H 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES 


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in  2008  with  funding  from 

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Tumbling  lu'Uer-skelter  aboard  the  lowered  lone-boat. 


DEAD  MEN 
TELL  NO  TALES 


BY 

E.    W     HORNUNG 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
HARVEY    T.    DUNN 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW    YORK:::::::  :::::::  1908 


Copyright,  iSgg,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


FK 


CONTENTS 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

Page 

I 

The  Mysterious  Cargo 

H 

To  the  Water's  Edge 

30 

The  Silent  Sea          .          .          . 

39 

My  Reward    .          .          .          . 

49 

The  Sole  Survivor    . 

59 

I  Find  a  Friend 

67 

A  Small  Precaution 

81 

My  Convalescent  Home    . 

90 

Wine  and  Weakness 

lOI 

I  Live  Again 

117 

My  Lady's  Bidding 

129 

The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life  . 

139 

In  the  Garden 

154 

First  Blood 

172 

on  00/5 /I  o 


Contents 


A  Deadlock    .... 

• 

Page 
184 

When  Thieves  Fall  Out 

• 

199 

A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

• 

214 

Mj  Great  Hour 

• 

220 

The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

• 

248 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


Tumbling  heJter -skelter  aboard  the  lowered  long-boat 

Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

One   instant   I    saw  her  very  clearly,  in   the  light  of 

a  candle  .  .  .  .  .  .120 

He  and  Harris  shot  every  man  of  them  dead  .  .256 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 


CHAPTER    I 

LOVE  ON  THE  OCEAN 

NOTHING  Is  so  easy  as  falling  In  love  on  a 
long  sea  voyage,  except  falling  out  of  love. 
Especially  was  this  the  case  In  the  days  when  the 
wooden  clippers  did  finely  to  land  you  In  Sydney  or 
In  Melbourne  under  the  four  full  months.  We  all 
saw  far  too  much  of  each  other,  unless.  Indeed,  we 
were  to  see  still  more.  Our  superficial  attractions 
mutually  exhausted,  we  lost  heart  and  patience  In 
the  disappointing  strata  which  He  between  the  sur- 
face and  the  bed-rock  of  most  natures.  My  ovv^n 
experience  was  confined  to  the  round  voyage  of 
the  Lady  Jermyn,  In  the  year  1853.  It  was  no 
common  experience,  as  was  only  too  well  known  at 
the  time.  And  I  may  add  that  I  for  my  part  had 
not  the  faintest  Intention  of  falling  In  love  on 
board;  nay,  after  all  these  years,  let  me  confess 
that  I  had  good  cause  to  hold  myself  proof  against 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

such  weakness.  Yet  we  carried  a  young  lady, 
coming  home,  who,  God  knows,  might  have  made 
short  work  of  many  a  better  man ! 

Eva  Denlson  was  her  name,  and  she  cannot 
have  been  more  than  nineteen  years  of  age.  I 
remember  her  telling  me  that  she  had  not  yet 
come  out,  the  very  first  time  I  assisted  her  to 
promenade  the  poop.  My  own  name  was  still  un- 
known to  her,  and  yet  I  recollect  being  quite  fas- 
cinated by  her  frankness  and  self-possession.  She 
was  exquisitely  young,  and  yet  ludicrously  old  for 
her  years;  had  been  admirably  educated,  chiefly 
abroad,  and,  as  we  were  soon  to  discover,  pos- 
sessed accomplishments  which  would  have  made 
the  plainest  old  maid  a  popular  personage  on  board 
ship.  Miss  Denison,  however,  was  as  beautiful 
as  she  was  young,  with  the  bloom  of  ideal  health 
upon  her  perfect  skin.  She  had  a  wealth  of  lovely 
hair,  with  strange  elusive  strands  of  gold  among 
the  brown,  that  drowned  her  ears  (I  thought  we 
were  to  have  that  mode  again?)  in  sunny  ripples; 
and  a  soul  greater  than  the  mind,  and  a  heart 
greater  than  either,  lay  sleeping  somewhere  in  the 
depths  of  her  grave,  gray  eyes. 

We  were  at  sea  together  so  many  weeks.  I  can- 
not think  what  I  was  made  of  then ! 

It  was  in  the  brave  old  days  of  Ballarat  and 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

Bendigo,  when  ship  after  ship  went  out  black  with 
passengers  and  deep  with  stores,  to  bounce  home 
with  a  bale  or  two  of  wool,  and  hardly  hands 
enough  to  reef  topsails  in  a  gale.  Nor  was  this 
the  worst;  for  not  the  crew  only,  but,  in  many 
cases,  captain  and  officers  as  well,  would  join  in 
the  stampede  to  the  diggings ;  and  we  found  Hob- 
son's  Bay  the  congested  asylum  of  all  manner  of 
masterless  and  deserted  vessels.  I  have  a  lively 
recollection  of  our  skipper's  indignation  when 
the  pilot  informed  him  of  this  disgraceful  fact. 
Within  a  fortnight,  however,  I  met  the  good  man 
face  to  face  upon  the  diggings.  It  is  but  fair  to 
add  that  the  Lady  Jermyn  lost  every  officer  and 
man  in  the  same  way,  and  that  the  captain  did 
obey  tradition  to  the  extent  of  being  the  last  to 
quit  his  ship.  Nevertheless,  of  all  who  sailed  by 
her  In  January,  I  alone  was  ready  to  return  at  the 
beginning  of  the  following  July. 

I  had  been  to  Ballarat.  I  had  given  the  thing 
a  trial.  For  the  most  odious  weeks  I  had  been  a 
licensed  digger  on  Black  Hill  Flats;  and  I  had 
actually  failed  to  make  running  expenses.  That, 
however,  will  surprise  you  the  less  when  I  pause 
to  declare  that  I  have  paid  as  much  as  four  shil- 
lings and  sixpence  for  half  a  loaf  of  execrable 
bread;  that  my  mate  and  I,  between  us,  seldom 

3 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

took  more  than  a  few  pennyweights  of  gold-dust 
in  any  one  day;  and  never  once  struck  pick  into 
nugget,  big  or  little,  though  we  had  the  mortifica- 
tion of  inspecting  the  "mammoth  masses"  of  which 
we  found  the  papers  full  on  landing,  and  which 
had  brought  the  gold-fever  to  its  height  during 
our  very  voyage.  With  me,  however,  as  with 
many  a  young  fellow  who  had  turned  his  back  on 
better  things,  the  malady  was  short-lived.  We 
expected  to  make  our  fortunes  out  of  hand,  and 
we  had  reckoned  without  the  vermin  and  the  vil- 
lainy which  rendered  us  more  than  ever  impatient 
of  delay.  In  my  fly-blown  blankets  I  dreamt  of 
London  until  I  hankered  after  my  chambers  and 
my  club  more  than  after  much  fine  gold.  Never 
shall  I  forget  my  first  hot  bath  on  getting  back  to 
Melbourne;  it  cost  five  shillings,  but  it  was  worth 
five  pounds,  and  is  altogether  my  pleasantest  remi- 
niscence of  Australia. 

There  was,  however,  one  slice  of  luck  in  store 
for  me.  I  found  the  dear  old  Lady  Jermyn  on  the 
very  eve  of  sailing,  with  a  new  captain,  a  new 
crew,  a  handful  of  passengers  (chiefly  steerage), 
and  nominally  no  cargo  at  all.  I  felt  none  the  less 
at  home  when  I  stepped  over  her  familiar  side. 

In  the  cuddy  we  were  only  five,  but  a  more  un- 
even quintette  I  defy  you  to  convene.     There  was 

4 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

a  young  fellow  named  Ready,  packed  out  for  his 
health,  and  hurrying  home  to  die  among  friends. 
There  was  an  outrageously  lucky  digger,  another 
invalid,  for  he  would  drink  nothing  but  champagne 
with  every  meal  and  at  any  minute  of  the  day,  and 
I  have  seen  him  pitch  raw  gold  at  the  sea-birds  by 
the  hour  together.  Miss  Denison  was  our  only 
lady,  and  her  step-father,  with  whom  she  was 
travelling,  was  the  one  man  of  distinction  on  board. 
He  was  a  Portuguese  of  sixty  or  thereabouts, 
Senhor  Joaquin  Santos  by  name ;  at  first  it  was  in- 
credible to  me  that  he  had  no  title,  so  noble  was 
his  bearing;  but  very  soon  I  realized  that  he  was 
one  of  those  to  whom  adventitious  honors  can  add 
no  lustre.  He  treated  Miss  Denison  as  no  parent 
ever  treated  a  child,  with  a  gallantry  and  a  courtli- 
ness quite  beautiful  to  watch,  and  not  a  little  touch- 
ing in  the  light  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  were  travelling  together.  The  girl  had  gone 
straight  from  school  to  her  step-father's  estate  on 
the  Zambesi,  where,  a  few  months  later,  her 
mother  had  died  of  the  malaria.  Unable  to  en- 
dure the  place  after  his  wife's  death,  Senhor  San- 
tos had  taken  ship  to  Victoria,  there  to  seek  fresh 
fortune  with  results  as  indifferent  as  my  own.  He 
was  now  taking  Miss  Denison  back  to  England, 
to  make  her  home  with  other  relatives,  before  he 

5 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

himself  returned  to  Africa  (as  he  once  told  me) 
to  lay  his  bones  beside  those  of  his  wife.  I 
hardly  know  which  of  the  pair  I  see  more  plainly 
as  I  write — the  young  girl  with  her  soft  eyes  and 
her  sunny  hair,  or  the  old  gentleman  with  the  erect 
though  wasted  figure,  the  noble  forehead,  the 
steady  eye,  the  parchment  skin,  the  white  im- 
perial, and  the  eternal  cigarette  between  his 
shrivelled  lips. 

No  need  to  say  that  I  came  more  in  contact  with 
the  young  girl.  She  was  not  less  charming  in  my 
eyes  because  she  provoked  me  greatly  as  I  came 
to  know  her  intimately.  She  had  many  irritating 
faults.  Like  most  young  persons  of  intellect  and 
Inexperience,  she  was  hasty  and  intolerant  in 
nearly  all  her  judgments,  and  rather  given  to  be- 
ing critical  In  a  crude  way.  She  was  very  musical, 
playing  the  guitar  and  singing  in  a  style  that  made 
our  shipboard  concerts  vastly  superior  to  the 
average  of  their  order;  but  I  have  seen  her  shud- 
der at  the  efforts  of  less  gifted  folks  who  were 
also  doing  their  best;  and  It  was  the  same  in  other 
directions  where  her  superiority  was  less  specific. 
The  faults  which  are  most  exasperating  in  another 
are,  of  course,  one's  own  faults :,  and  I  confess  that 
I  was  very  critical  of  Eva  Denison's  criticisms. 
Then  she  had  a  little  weakness  for  exaggeration, 

6 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

for  unconscious  egotism  in  conversation,  and  I 
itched  to  tell  her  so.  I  felt  so  certain  that  the 
girl  had  a  fine  character  underneath,  which  would 
rise  to  noble  heights  in  stress  or  storm:  all  the 
more  would  I  long  now  to  take  her  in  hand  and 
mould  her  in  little  things,  and  anon  to  take  her 
in  my  arms  just  as  she  was.  The  latter  feeling 
was  resolutely  crushed.  To  be  plain,  I  had  en- 
dured what  Is  euphemistically  called  "disappoint- 
ment" already;  and,  not  being  a  complete  cox- 
comb, I  had  no  intention  of  courting  a  second. 

Yet,  when  I  write  of  Eva  Denison,  I  am  like 
to  let  my  pen  outrun  my  tale.  I  lay  the  pen  down, 
and  a  hundred  of  her  sayings  ring  In  my  ears, 
with  my  own  contradictious  comments,  that  I  was 
doomed  so  soon  to  repent;  a  hundred  visions  of 
her  start  to  my  eyes;  and  there  Is  the  trade-wind 
singing  in  the  rigging,  and  loosening  a  tress  of 
my  darling's  hair,  till  It  flies  like  a  tiny  golden 
streamer  In  the  tropic  sun.  There,  It  is  out!  I 
have  called  her  what  she  was  to  be  In  my  heart 
ever  after.  Yet  at  the  time  I  must  argue  with 
her — with  her!  When  all  my  courage  should 
have  gone  to  love-making,  I  was  plucking  it  up 
to  sail  as  near  as  I  might  to  plain  remonstrance ! 
I  little  dreamt  how  the  ghost  of  every  petty  word 
was  presently  to  return  and  torture  me. 

7 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

So  it  is  that  I  can  see  her  and  hear  her  now  on 
a  hundred  separate  occasions — beneath  the  awn- 
ing— beneath  the  stars — on  deck — below — at 
noon  or  night — but  plainest  of  all  in  the  evening 
of  the  day  we  signalled  the  Island  of  Ascension, 
at  the  close  of  that  last  concert  on  the  quarter- 
deck. The  watch  are  taking  down  the  extra  awn- 
ing; they  are  removing  the  bunting  and  the  foot- 
lights. The  lanterns  are  trailed  forward  before 
they  are  put  out;  from  the  break  of  the  poop  we 
watch  the  vivid  shifting  patch  of  deck  that  each 
lights  up  on  its  way.  The  stars  are  very  sharp  in 
the  vast  violet  dome  above  our  masts;  they  shim- 
mer on  the  sea;  and  our  trucks  describe  minute 
orbits  among  the  stars,  for  the  trades  have  yet 
to  fail  us,  and  every  inch  of  canvas  has  its  fill  of 
the  gentle  steady  wind.  It  is  a  heavenly  night. 
The  peace  of  God  broods  upon  His  waters.  No 
jarring  note  offends  the  ear.  In  the  forecastle 
a  voice  is  humming  a  song  of  Eva  Denison's  that 
has  caught  the  fancy  of  the  men;  the  young  girl 
who  sang  it  so  sweetly  not  twenty  minutes  since — 
who  sang  it  again  and  again  to  please  the  crew — 
she  alone  is  at  war  with  our  little  world — she  alone 
would  head  a  mutiny  if  she  could. 

"I  hate  the  captain!"  she  says  again. 

"My  dear  Miss  Denison!"   I  begin;   for  she 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

has  always  been  severe  upon  our  bluff  old  man, 
and  it  is  not  the  spirit  of  contrariety  alone  which 
makes  me  invariably  take  his  part.  Coarse  he 
may  be,  and  not  one  whom  the  owners  would  have 
chosen  to  command  the  Lady  Jermyn;  a  good  sea- 
man none  the  less,  who  brought  us  round  the  Horn 
in  foul  weather  without  losing  stitch  or  stick.  I 
think  of  the  ruddy  ruffian  in  his  dripping  oilskins, 
on  deck  day  and  night  for  our  sakes,  and  once 
more  I  must  needs  take  his  part;  but  Miss  Denison 
stops  me  before  I  can  get  out  another  word. 

"I  am  not  dear,  and  I'm  not  yours,"  she  cries. 
"I'm  only  a  school-girl — you  have  all  but  told  me 
so  before  to-day!  If  I  were  a  man — if  I  were 
you — I  should  tell  Captain  Harris  what  I  thought 
of  him!" 

"Why?     What  has  he  done  now?" 

"Now?  You  know  how  rude  he  was  to  poor 
Mr.  Ready  this  very  afternoon!" 

It  was  true.  He  had  been  very  rude  indeed. 
But  Ready  also  had  been  at  fault.  It  may  be  that 
I  was  always  inclined  to  take  an  opposite  view, 
but  I  felt  bound  to  point  this  out,  and  at  any  cost. 

"You  mean  when  Ready  asked  him  if  we  were 
out  of  our  course?  I  must  say  I  thought  it  was 
a  silly  question  to  put.  It  was  the  same  the  other 
evening  about  the  cargo.    If  the  skipper  says  we're 

9 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

in  ballast  why  not  believe  him?  Why  repeat 
steerage  gossip,  about  mysterious  cargoes,  at  the 
cuddy  table?  Captains  are  always  touchy  about 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  wasn't  surprised  at  his  let- 
ting out." 

My  poor  love  stares  at  me  in  the  starlight.  Her 
great  eyes  flash  their  scorn.  Then  she  gives  a 
little  smile — and  then  a  little  nod — more  scornful 
than  all  the  rest. 

"You  never  are  surprised,  are  you,  Mr.  Cole?" 
says  she.  "You  were  not  surprised  when  the 
wretch  used  horrible  language  in  front  of  me! 
You  were  not  surprised  when  It  was  a — dying 
m.an — whom  he  abused!" 

I  try  to  soothe  her.  I  agree  heartily  with  her 
disgust  at  the  epithets  employed  in  her  hearing, 
and  towards  an  invalid,  by  the  irate  skipper.  But 
I  ask  her  to  make  allowances  for  a  rough,  unedu- 
cated man,  rather  clumsily  touched  upon  his  ten- 
der spot.  I  shall  conciliate  her  presently;  the 
divine  pout  (so  childish  it  was!)  is  fading  from 
her  lips;  the  starlight  is  on  the  tulle  and  lace  and 
roses  of  her  pretty  evening  dress,  v/ith  its  fes- 
tooned skirts  and  obsolete  flounces;  and  I  am 
watching  her,  ay,  and  worshipping  her,  though 
I  do  not  know  it  yet.  And  as  we  stand  there 
comes  another  snatch  from  the  forecastle: — 

10 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

"What  will  you  do,  love,  when  I  am  going, 
With  white  sail  flowing, 
The  seas  beyond? 
What  will  you  do,  love " 

"They  may  make  the  most  of  that  song,"  says 
Miss  Denison  grimly;  "It's  the  last  they'll  have 
from  me.  Get  up  as  many  more  concerts  as  you 
like.  I  won't  sing  at  another  unless  It's  In  the 
fo'c'sle.  I'll  sing  to  the  men,  but  not  to  Captain 
Harris.  He  didn't  put  In  an  appearance  to- 
night. He  shall  not  have  another  chance  of 
insulting  me," 

Was  It  her  vanity  that  was  wounded  after  all? 

"You  forget,"  said  I,  "that  you  would  not  an- 
swer when  he  addressed  you  at  dinner." 

"I  should  think  I  wouldn't,  after  the  way  he 
spoke  to  Mr.  Ready;  and  he  too  agitated  to  come 
to  table,  poor  fellow !" 

"Still,  the  captain  felt  the  open  slight." 

"Then  he  shouldn't  have  used  such  language 
In  front  of  me." 

"Your  father  felt  It,  too,  Miss  Denison." 

I  hear  nothing  plainer  than  her  low  but  quick 
reply : 

"Mr.  Cole,  my  father  has  been  dead  many, 
many  years ;  he  died  before  I  can  remember.  That 
man  only  married  my  poor  mother.     He  sympa- 

II 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

thizes  with  Captain  Harris — against  me;  no 
father  would  do  that.  Look  at  them  together 
now !  And  you  take  his  side,  too ;  oh !  I  have 
no  patience  with  any  of  you — except  poor  Mr. 
Ready  in  his  berth." 

"But  you  are  not  going." 

"Indeed  I  am.     I  am  tired  of  you  all." 

And  she  was  gone  with  angry  tears  for  which 
I  blamed  myself  as  I  fell  to  pacing  the  weather 
side  of  the  poop — and  so  often  afterwards!  So 
often,  and  with  such  unavailing  bitterness! 

Senhor  Santos  and  the  captain  were  in  conversa- 
tion by  the  weather  rail.  I  fancied  poor  old  Har- 
ris eyed  me  with  suspicion,  and  I  wished  he  had 
better  cause.  The  Portuguese,  however,  saluted 
me  with  his  customary  courtesy,  and  I  thought 
there  was  a  grave  twinkle  in  his  steady  eye. 

"Are  you  in  deesgrace  also,  friend  Cole?"  he 
inquired  in  his  all  but  perfect  English. 

"More  or  less,"  said  I  ruefully. 

He  gave  the  shrug  of  his  country — that  delicate 
gesture  which  is  done  almost  entirely  with  the 
back — a  subtlety  beyond  the  power  of  British 
shoulders. 

"The  senhora  is  both  weelful  and  pivlsh,"  said 
he,  mixing  the  two  vowels  which  (with  the 
aspirate)   were  his  only  trouble  with  our  tongue. 

12 


Love  on  the  Ocean 

"It  is  great  grif  to  me  to  see  her  growing  so  unlike 
her  sainted  mother!" 

He  sighed,  and  I  saw  his  delicate  fingers  for- 
sake the  cigarette  they  were  rolling  to  make  the 
sacred  sign  upon  his  breast.  He  was  always  smok- 
ing one  cigarette  and  making  another;  as  he  lit 
the  new  one  the  glow  fell  upon  a  strange  pin  that 
he  wore,  a  pin  with  a  tiny  crucifix  inlaid  in  mosaic. 
So  the  religious  cast  of  Senhor  Santos  was  brought 
twice  home  to  me  in  the  same  moment,  though, 
to  be  sure,  I  had  often  been  struck  by  it  before. 
And  it  depressed  me  to  think  that  so  sweet  a  child 
as  Eva  Denison  should  have  spoken  harshly  of  so 
good  a  man  as  her  step-father,  simply  because  he 
had  breadth  enough  to  sympathize  with  a  coarse 
old  salt  like  Captain  Harris. 

I  turned  in,  however,  and  I  cannot  say  the  mat- 
ter kept  me  awake  in  the  separate  state-room 
which  was  one  luxury  of  our  empty  saloon.  Alas ! 
I  was  a  heavy  sleeper  then. 


13 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    MYSTERIOUS    CARGO 

WAKE  up,  Cole!    The  ship's  on  fire!" 
It  was  young  Ready's  hollow  voice,  as 
cool,  however,  as  though  he  were  telling  me  I  was 
late  for  breakfast.     I  started  up  and  sought  him 
wildly  in  the  darkness. 

"You're  joking,"  was  my  first  thought  and 
utterance;  for  now  he  was  lighting  my  candle, 
and  blowing  out  the  match  with  a  care  that 
seemed  in  itself  a  contradiction. 

"I  wish  I  were,"  he  answered.  "Listen  to 
that!" 

He  pointed  to  my  cabin  ceiling;  it  quivered 
and  creaked;  and  all  at  once  I  was  as  a  deaf  man 
healed. 

One  gets  inured  to  noise  at  sea,  but  to  this  day 
It  passes  me  how  even  I  could  have  slept  an  In- 
stant in  the  abnormal  din  which  I  now  heard 
raging  above  my  head.  Sea-boots  stamped;  bare 
feet  pattered;  men  bawled;  women  shrieked; 
shouts  of  terror  drowned  the  roar  of  command. 

14 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

"Have  we  long  to  last?"  I  asked,  as  I  leaped 
for  my  clothes, 

"Long  enough  for  you  to  dress  comfortably. 
Steady,  old  man!  It's  only  just  been  discovered; 
they  may  get  it  under.  The  panic's  the  worst  part 
at  present,  and  we're  out  of  that." 

But  was  Eva  Denison?  Breathlessly  I  put  the 
question;  his  answer  was  reassuring.  Miss  Deni- 
son was  with  her  step-father  on  the  poop.  "And 
both  of  'em  as  cool  as  cucumbers,"  added  Ready. 

They  could  not  have  been  cooler  than  this 
young  man,  with  death  at  the  bottom  of  his 
bright  and  sunken  eyes.  He  was  of  the  type  which 
is  all  muscle  and  no  constitution;  athletes  one  year, 
dead  men  the  next;  but  until  this  moment  the 
athlete  had  been  to  me  a  mere  and  incredible  tra- 
dition. In  the  afternoon  I  had  seen  his  lean  knees 
totter  under  the  captain's  fire.  Now,  at  midnight 
— the  exact  time  by  my  watch — It  was  as  if  his 
shrunken  limbs  had  expanded  in  his  clothes;  he 
seemed  hardly  to  know  his  own  flushed  face,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  it  In  my  mirror. 

"By  Jove!"  said  he,  "this  has  put  me  In  a  fine 
old  fever;  but  I  don't  know  when  I  felt  in  better 
fettle.  If  only  they  get  It  under !  I've  not  looked 
like  this  all  the  voyage." 

And  he  admired  himself  while  I  dressed  in  hot 
15 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

haste:  a  fine  young  fellow;  not  at  all  the  natural 
egotist,  but  cast  for  death  by  the  doctors,  and 
keenly  incredulous  in  his  bag  of  skin.  It  revived 
one's  confidence  to  hear  him  talk.  But  he  forgot 
himself  in  an  instant,  and  gave  me  a  lead  through 
the  saloon  with  a  boyish  eagerness  that  made  me 
actually  suspicious  as  I  ran.  We  were  nearing  the 
Line.  I  recalled  the  excesses  of  my  last  crossing, 
and  I  prepared  for  some  vast  hoax  at  the  last 
moment.  It  was  only  when  we  plunged  upon  the 
crowded  quarter-deck,  and  my  own  eyes  read  lust 
of  life  and  dread  of  death  in  the  starting  eyes  of 
others,  that  such  lust  and  such  dread  consumed 
me  in  my  turn,  so  that  my  veins  seemed  filled  with 
fire  and  ice. 

To  be  fair  to  those  others,  I  think  that  the  first 
wild  panic  was  subsiding  even  then;  at  least  there 
was  a  lull,  and  even  a  reaction  in  the  right  direc- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  males  in  the  second  class 
and  steerage.  A  huge  Irishman  at  their  head, 
they  were  passing  buckets  towards  the  after-hold; 
the  press  of  people  hid  the  hatchway  from  us  until 
we  gained  the  poop;  but  we  heard  the  buckets 
spitting  and  a  hose-pipe  hissing  into  the  flames 
below;  and  v/e  saw  the  column  of  white  vapor 
rising  steadily  from  their  midst. 

At  the  break  of  the  poop  stood  Captain  Harris, 
i6 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

his  legs  planted  wide  apart,  very  vigorous,  very- 
decisive,  very  profane.  And  I  must  confess  that 
the  shocking  oaths  which  had  brought  us  round 
the  Horn  inspired  a  kind  of  confidence  in  me  now. 
Besides,  even  from  the  poop  I  could  see  no  flames. 
But  the  night  was  as  beautiful  as  it  had  been  an 
hour  or  two  back;  the  stars  as  brilliant,  the  breeze 
even  more  balmy,  the  sea  even  more  calm ;  and  we 
were  hove-to  already,  against  the  worst. 

In  this  hour  of  peril  the  poop  was  very  prop- 
erly invaded  by  all  classes  of  passengers,  in  all 
manner  of  incongruous  apparel,  in  all  stages  of 
fear,  rage,  grief  and  hysteria ;  as  we  made  our  way 
among  this  motley  nightmare  throng,  I  took 
Ready  by  the  arm. 

"The  skipper's  a  brute,"  said  I,  "but  he's  the 
right  brute  in  the  right  place  to-night.  Ready!" 

"I  hope  he  may  be,"  was  the  reply.  "But  we 
were  off  our  course  this  afternoon;  and  we  were 
off  it  again  during  the  concert,  as  sure  as  we're 
not  on  it  now." 

His  tone  made  me  draw  him  to  the  rail. 

"But  how  do  you  know?  You  didn't  have  an- 
other look,  did  you?" 

"Lots  of  looks — at  the  stars.  He  couldn't 
keep  me  from  consulting  them;  and  I'm  just  as 
certain  of  It  as  I'm  certain  that  we've  a  cargo 

17 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

aboard  which  we're  none  of  us  supposed  to  know 
anything  about." 

The  latter  piece  of  gossip  was,  indeed,  all  over 
the  ship ;  but  this  allusion  to  it  struck  me  as  fool- 
ishly irrelevant  and  frivolous.  As  to  the  other 
matter,  I  suggested  that  the  officers  would  have 
had  more  to  say  about  It  than  Ready,  if  there  had 
been  anything  In  it. 

"Officers  be  damned!"  cried  our  consumptive, 
with  a  sound  man's  vigor.  "They're  ordinary 
seamen  dressed  up;  I  don't  believe  they've  a  sec- 
ond mate's  certificate  between  them,  and  they're 
frightened  out  of  their  souls." 

"Well,  anyhow,  the  skipper  isn't  that." 

"No;  he's  drunk;  he  can  shout  straight,  but 
you  should  hear  him  try  to  speak." 

I  made  my  way  aft  without  rejoinder.  "In- 
valid's pessimism,"  was  my  private  comment. 
And  yet  the  sick  man  was  whole  for  the  time 
being;  the  virile  spirit  was  once  more  master  of 
the  recreant  members;  and  It  was  with  Illogical 
relief  that  I  found  those  I  sought  standing  almost 
unconcernedly  beside  the  binnacle. 

My  little  friend  was.  Indeed,  pale  enough,  and 
her  eyes  great  with  dismay;  but  she  stood  splen- 
didly calm.  In  her  travelling  cloak  and  bonnet,  and 
with   all   my   soul   I   hailed  the   hardihood  with 

i8 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

which  I  had  rightly  credited  my  love.  Yes!  I 
loved  her  then.  It  had  come  home  to  me  at  last, 
and  I  no  longer  denied  it  in  my  heart.  In  my  In- 
nocence and  my  joy  I  rather  blessed  the  fire  for 
showing  me  her  true  self  and  my  own;  and  there 
I  stood,  loving  her  openly  with  my  eyes  (not  to 
lose  another  instant) ,  and  bursting  to  tell  her  so 
with  my  lips. 

But  there  also  stood  Senhor  Santos,  almost  pre- 
cisely as  I  had  seen  him  last,  cigarette,  tie-pin, 
and  all.  He  wore  an  overcoat,  however,  and 
leaned  upon  a  massive  ebony  cane,  while  he  car- 
ried his  daughter's  guitar  in  its  case,  exactly  as 
though  they  were  waiting  for  a  train.  Moreover, 
I  thought  that  for  the  first  time  he  was  regarding 
me  with  no  very  favoring  glance. 

"You  don't  think  it  serious?"  I  asked  him 
abruptly,  my  heart  still  bounding  with  the  most 
Incongruous  joy. 

He  gave  me  his  ambiguous  shrug;  and  then, 
"A  fire  at  sea  is  surely  sirrious,"  said  he. 

"Where  did  it  break  out?" 

"No  one  knows;  It  may  have  come  of  your 
concert." 

"But  they  are  getting  the  better  of  it?" 

"They  are  working  wonders  so  far,  senhor. 

"You  see,  Miss  Denison,"  I  continued  ecstatl- 
19 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

cally,  "our  rough  old  diamond  of  a  skipper  is  the 
right  man  in  the  right  place  after  all.  A  tight 
man  in  a  tight  place,  eh?"  and  I  laughed  like  an 
idiot  in  their  calm  grave  faces. 

"Senhor  Cole  is  right,"  said  Santos,  "although 
his  'ilarity  sims  a  leetle  out  of  place.  But  you 
must  never  spik  against  Captain  'Arrees  again, 
menina." 

"I  never  will,"  the  poor  child  said;  yet  I  saw 
her  wince  whenever  the  captain  raised  that  hoarse 
voice  of  his  in  more  and  more  blasphemous  exhor- 
tation; and  I  began  to  fear  with  Ready  that  the 
man  was  drunk. 

My  eyes  were  still  upon  my  darling,  devouring 
her,  revelling  in  her,  when  suddenly  I  saw  her 
hand  twitch  within  her  step-father's  arm.  It  was 
an  answering  start  to  one  on  his  part.  The  cigar- 
ette was  snatched  from  his  lips.  There  was  a  com- 
motion forward,  and  a  cry  came  aft,  from  mouth 
to  mouth : 

"The  flames!    The  flames!" 

I  turned,  and  caught  their  reflection  on  the 
white  column  of  smoke  and  steam.  I  ran  forward, 
and  saw  them  curling  and  leaping  in  the  hell- 
mouth  of  the  hold. 

The  quarter-deck  now  staged  a  lurid  scene: 
that  blazing  trap-door  In  Its  midst;  and  each  man 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

there  a  naked  demon  madly  working  to  save  his 
roasting  skin.  Abaft  the  mainmast  the  deck- 
pump  was  being  ceaselessly  worked  by  relays  of 
the  passengers;  dry  blankets  were  passed  forward, 
soaking  blankets  were  passed  aft,  and  flung  flat 
into  the  furnace  one  after  another.  These  did 
more  good  than  the  pure  water:  the  pillar  of 
smoke  became  blacker,  denser :  we  were  at  a  crisis ; 
a  sudden  hush  denoted  it;  even  our  hoarse  skippr 
stood  dumb. 

I  had  rushed  down  into  the  waist  of  the  ship — 
blushing  for  my  delay — and  already  I  was  tossing 
blankets  with  the  rest.  Looking  up  in  an  enforced 
pause,  I  saw  Santos  whispering  in  the  skipper's 
ear,  with  the  expression  of  a  sphinx,  but  no  lack 
of  foreign  gesticulation — behind  them  a  fringe  of 
terror-stricken  faces,  parted  at  that  instant  by  two 
more  figures,  as  wild  and  strange  as  any  in  that 
wild,  strange  scene.  One  was  our  luckless  lucky 
digger,  the  other  a  gigantic  Zambesi  nigger,  who 
for  days  had  been  told  off  to  watch  him ;  this  was 
the  servant  (or  rather  the  slave)  of  Senhor  Santos. 

The  digger  planted  himself  before  the  captain. 
His  face  was  reddened  by  a  fire  as  consuming  as 
that  within  the  bowels  of  our  gallant  ship.  He 
had  a  huge,  unwieldy  bundle  under  either  arm. 

"Plain     question — plain     ansv/er,"     we     heard 

21 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

him  stutter.     "Is  there  any chance  of  saving 

this ship?" 

His  adjectives  were  too  foul  for  print;  they 
were  given  with  such  a  special  effort  at  distinct- 
ness, however,  that  I  was  smiling  one  instant,  and 
giving  thanks  the  next  that  Eva  Denison  had  not 
come  forward  with  her  guardian.  Meanwhile  the 
skipper  had  exchanged  a  glance  with  Senhor  San- 
tos, and  I  think  we  all  felt  that  he  was  going  to 
tell  us  the  truth. 

He  told  it  in  two  words — 

"Very  little." 

Then  the  first  individual  tragedy  was  enacted 
before  every  eye.  With  a  yell  the  drunken  maniac 
rushed  to  the  rail.  The  nigger  was  at  his  heels — 
he  was  too  late.  Uttering  another  and  more 
piercing  shriek,  the  madman  was  overboard  at  a 
bound ;  one  of  his  bundles  preceded  him ;  the  other 
dropped  like  a  cannon-ball  on  the  deck. 

The  nigger  caught  it  up  and  carried  it  forward 
to  the  captain. 

Harris  held  up  his  hand.  We  were  still  before 
we  had  fairly  found  our  tongues.  His  words  did 
run  together  a  little,  but  he  was  not  drunk. 

"Men  and  women,"  said  he,  "what  I  told  that 
poor  devil  Is  Gospel  truth;  but  I  didn't  tell  him 
we'd  no  chance  of  saving  our  lives,  did  I?     Not 

22 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

me,  because  we  have !  Keep  your  heads  and  listen 
to  me.  There's  two  good  boats  on  the  davits 
amidships;  the  chief  will  take  one,  the  second 
officer  the  other;  and  there  ain't  no  reason  why 
every  blessed  one  of  you  shouldn't  sleep  in  Ascen- 
sion to-morrow  night.  As  for  me,  let  me  see  every 
soul  off  of  my  ship  and  perhaps  I  may  follow ;  but 
by  the  God  that  made  you,  look  alive!  Mr. 
Arnott — Mr.  McClellan — man  them  boats  and 
lower  away.  You  can't  get  quit  o'  the  ship  too 
soon,  an'  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  why.  I'll  tell 
you  the  worst,  an'  then  you'll  know.  There's 
been  a  lot  o'  gossip  goin',  gossip  about  my  cargo. 
I  give  out  as  I'd  none  but  ship's  stores  and  ballast, 
an'  I  give  out  a  lie.  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  now. 
I  give  out  a  cussed  lie,  but  I  give  it  out  for  the 
good  o'  the  ship  !  What  was  the  use  o'  frightenin' 
folks?  But  where's  the  sense  in  keepin'  it  back 
now?  We  have  a  bit  of  a  cargo,"  shouted  Har- 
ris; "and  it's  gunpowder — every  damned  ton 
of  it  I" 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  may  be  im- 
agined; my  hand  has  not  the  cunning  to  reproduce 
it  on  paper;  and  if  it  had,  it  would  shrink  from 
the  task.  Mild  men  became  brutes,  brutal  men, 
devils,  women — God  help  them  ! — shrieking  bel- 
dams for  the  most  part.     Never  shall  I   forget 

23 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

them  with  their  streaming  hair,  their  screammg 
open  mouths,  and  the  cruel  ascending  fire  ghnting 
on  their  starting  eyeballs ! 

Pell-mell  they  tumbled  down  the  poop-ladders; 
pell-mell  they  raced  amidships  past  that  yawning 
open  furnace;  the  pitch  was  boiling  through  the 
seams  of  the  crackling  deck;  they  slipped  and  fell 
upon  it,  one  over  another,  and  the  wonder  is  that 
none  plunged  headlong  into  the  flames.  A  hand- 
ful remained  on  the  poop,  cowering  and  undone 
with  terror.  Upon  these  turned  Captain  Harris, 
as  Ready  and  I,  stemming  the  torrent  of  mad- 
dened humanity,  regained  the  poop  ourselves. 

"For'ard  with  ye!"  yelled  the  skipper.  "The 
powder's  underneath  you  in  the  lazarette!" 

They  were  gone  like  hunted  sheep.  And  now 
abaft  the  flaming  hatchway  there  were  only  we 
four  surviving  saloon  passengers,  the  captain,  his 
steward,  the  Zambesi  negro,  and  the  quarter- 
master at  the  wheel.  The  steward  and  the  black 
I  observed  putting  stores  aboard  the  captain's 
gig  as  It  overhung  the  water  from  the  stern 
davits. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Harris  to  the,  two  of 
us,  "I  must  trouble  you  to  step  forward  with  the 
rest.  Senhor  Santos  insists  on  taking  his  chance 
along  with  the  young  lady  in  my  gig.     I've  told 

24 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

him  the  risk,  but  he  insists,  and  the  gig'll  hold  no 
more." 

"But  she  must  have  a  crew,  and  I  can  row.  For 
God's  sake  take  me,  captain!"  cried  I;  for  Eva 
Denison  sat  weeping  in  her  deck  chair,  and  my 
heart  bled  faint  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her,  I 
who  loved  her  so,  and  might  die  without  ever 
telhng  her  my  love!  Harris,  however,  stood 
firm. 

"There's  that  quartermaster  and  my  steward, 
and  Jose  the  nigger,"  said  he.  "That's  quite 
enough,  Mr.  Cole,  for  I  ain't  above  an  oar  my- 
self; but,  by  God,  I'm  skipper  o'  this  here  ship, 
and  I'll  skip  her  as  long  as  I  remain  aboard!" 

I  saw  his  hand  go  to  his  belt;  I  saw  the  pistols 
stuck  there  for  mutineers.  I  looked  at  Santos. 
He  answered  me  with  his  neutral  shrug,  and,  by 
my  soul,  he  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  cigarette  in 
that  hour  of  life  and  death !  Then  last  I  looked 
at  Ready;  and  he  leant  invertebrate  over  the  rail, 
gasping  pitiably  from  his  exertions  in  regaining 
the  poop,  a  dying  man  once  more.  I  pointed  out 
his  piteous  state. 

"At  least,"'  I  whispered,  "you  won't  refuse  to 
take  him?" 

"Will  there  be  anything  to  take?"  said  the  cap- 
tain brutally. 

25 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Santos  advanced  leisurely,  and  puffed  his  cigar- 
ette over  the  poor  wasted  and  exhausted  frame. 

"It  is  for  you  to  decide,  captain,"  said  he  cyni- 
cally; "but  this  one  will  make  no  deeference. 
Yes,  I  would  take  him.  It  will  not  be  far,"  he 
added,  In  a  tone  that  was  not  the  less  detestable 
for  being  lowered. 

"Take  them  both!"  moaned  little  Eva,  putting 
In  her  first  and  last  sweet  word. 

"Then  we  all  drown,  Evaslnha,"  said  her  step- 
father.    "It  is  impossible." 

"We're  too  many  for  her  as  it  is,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "So  for'ard  with  ye,  Mr.  Cole,  before  It's 
too  late." 

But  my  darling's  brave  word  for  me  had  fired 
my  blood,  and  I  turned  with  equal  resolution  on 
Harris  and  on  the  Portuguese.  "I  will  go  like  a 
lamb,"  said  I,  "If  you  will  first  give  me  five  min- 
utes' conversation  with  Miss  Denison.  Otherwise 
I  do  not  go ;  and  as  for  the  gig,  you  may  take  me 
or  leave  me,  as  you  choose." 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  her?"  asked  Santos, 
coming  up  to  me,  and  again  lowering  his  voice. 

I  lowered  mine  still  more.  "That  I  love  her!" 
I  answered  in  a  soft  ecstasy.  "That  she  may  re- 
member how  I  loved  her,  if  I  die !" 

His  shoulders  shrugged  a  cynical  acquiescence. 
26 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

"By  all  mins,  senhor;  there  is  no  harm  in  that." 

I  was  at  her  side  before  another  word  could 
pass  his  withered  lips. 

"Miss  Denison,  will  you  grant  me  live  minutes'^ 
conversation?  It  may  be  the  last  that  we  shall 
ever  have  together !" 

Uncovering  her  face,  she  looked  at  me  with  a 
strange  terror  in  her  great  eyes;  then  with  a  ques- 
tioning light  that  was  yet  more  strange,  for  in  it 
ther£  was  a  wistfulness  I  could  not  comprehend. 
She  suffered  me  to  take  her  hand,  however,  and  to 
lead  her  unresisting  to  the  weather  rail. 

"What  is  it  you  have  to  say?"  she  asked  me  in 
her  turn.     "What  is  it  that  you — think?" 

Her  voice  fell  as  though  she  must  have  the 
truth. 

"That  we  have  all  a  very  good  chance,"  said  I 
heartily, 

"Is  that  all?"  cried  Eva,  and  my  heart  sank  at 
her  eager  manner. 

She  seemed  at  once  disappointed  and  relieved. 
Could  it  be  possible  she  dreaded  a  declaration 
which  she  had  foreseen  all  along?  My  evil  first 
experience  rose  up  to  warn  me.  No,  I  would  not 
speak  now;  it  was  no  time.  If  she  loved  me,  it 
might  make  her  love  me  less;  better  to  trust  to 
God  to  spare  us  both. 

27 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"Yes,  it  Is  all,"  I  said  doggedly. 

She  drew  a  little  nearer,  hesitating.  It  was  as 
though  her  disappointment  had  gained  on  her 
relief. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  thought  you  were  going 
to  say?" 

"No,   indeed." 

"Dare  I  tell  you?" 

"You  can  trust  me." 

Her  pale  lips  parted.  Her  great  eyes  shone. 
Another  instant,  and  she  had  told  me  that  which 
I  would  have  given  all  but  life  itself  to  know.  But 
in  that  tick  of  time  a  quick  step  came  behind  me, 
and  the  light  went  out  of  the  sv/eet  face  upturned 
to  mine. 

"I  cannot!     I  must  not!     Here  is — that  man !" 

Senhor  Santos  was  all  smiles  and  rings  of  pale- 
blue  smoke. 

"You  will  be  cut  off,  friend  Cole,"  said  he. 
"The  fire  is  spreading." 

"Let  it  spread!"  I  cried,  gazing  my  very  soul 
into  the  young  girl's  eyes.  "We  have  not  finished 
our  conversation." 

"We  have!"  said  she,  with  sudden  decision. 
"Go — go — for  my  sake — for  your  own  sake — go 
at  once!" 

She  gave  me  her  hand.  I  merely  clasped  it. 
28 


The  Mysterious  Cargo 

And  so  I  left  her  at  the  rail — ah,  heaven !  how 
often  we  had  argued  on  that  very  spot!  So  I  left 
her,  with  the  greatest  effort  of  all  my  life  (but 
one)  ;  and  yet  in  passing,  full  as  my  heart  was  of 
love  and  self,  I  could  not  but  lay  a  hand  on  poor 
Ready's  shoulders. 

"God  bless  you,  old  boy!"  I  said  to  him. 

He  turned  a  white  face  that  gave  me  half  an 
instant's  pause. 

"It's  all  over  with  me  this  time,"  he  said. 
"But,  I  say,  I  was  right  about  the  cargo?" 

And  I  heard  a  chuckle  as  I  reached  the  ladder; 
but  Ready  was  no  longer  in  my  mind;  even  Eva 
was  driven  out  of  it,  as  I  stood  aghast  on  the  top- 
most rung. 


29 


CHAPTER    III 

TO   THE   water's    EDGE 

IT  was  not  the  new  panic  amidships  that  froze 
my  marrow ;  it  was  not  that  the  pinnace  hung 
perpendicularly  by  the  fore-tackle,  and  had  shot 
out  those  who  had  swarmed  aboard  her  before 
she  was  lowered,  as  a  cart  shoots  a  load  of  bricks. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  see  the  whole  boat-load 
struggling,  floundering,  sinking  in  the  sea;  for 
selfish  eyes  (and  which  of  us  is  all  unselfish  at  such 
a  time?)  there  was  a  worse  sight  yet;  for  I  saw 
all  this  across  an  impassable  gulf  of  fire. 

The  quarter-deck  had  caught:  it  was  in  flames 
to  port  and  starboard  of  the  flaming  hatch;  only 
fore  and  aft  of  it  was  the  deck  sound  to  the  lips 
of  that  hideous  mouth,  with  the  hundred  tongues 
shooting  out  and  up. 

Could  I  jump  it  there?  I  sprang  down  and 
looked.  It  was  only  a  few  feet  across ;  but  to  leap 
through  that  living  fire  was  to  leap  into  eternity. 
I  drew  back  instantly,  less  because  my  heart  failed 
me,  I  may  truly  say,  than  because  my  common 
sense  did  not. 

30 


To  the  Water's  Edge 

Some  were  watching  me,  it  seemed,  across  this 
hell.  "The  bulwarks!"  they  screamed.  "Walk 
along  the  bulwarks !"  I  held  up  my  hand  in  token 
that  I  heard  and  understood  and  meant  to  act. 
And  as  I  did  their  bidding  I  noticed  what  indeed 
had  long  been  apparent  to  idler  eyes:  the  wind 
was  not;  we  had  lost  our  southeast  trades;  the 
doomed  ship  was  rolling  in  a  dead  calm. 

Rolling,  rolling,  rolling  so  that  it  seemed  min- 
utes before  I  dared  to  move  an  inch.  Then  I  tried 
it  on  my  hands  and  knees,  but  the  scorched  bul- 
warks burned  me  to  the  bone.  And  then  I  leapt 
up,  desperate  with  the  pain;  and,  with  my  tortured 
hands  spread  wide  to  balance  me,  I  walked  those 
few  yards,  between  rising  sea  and  falling  fire,  and 
falling  sea  and  rising  fire,  as  an  acrobat  walks  a 
rope,  and  by  God's  grace  without  mishap. 

There  was  no  time  to  think  twice  about  my 
feat,  or,  indeed,  about  anything  else  that  befell 
upon  a  night  when  each  moment  was  more  preg- 
nant than  the  last.  And  yet  I  did  think  that  those 
who  had  encouraged  me  to  attempt  so  perilous  a 
trick  might  have  welcomed  me  alive  among  them ; 
they  were  looking  at  something  else  already;  and 
this  was  what  It  was. 

One  of  the  cabin  stewards  had  presented  him- 
self on  the  poop;  he  had  a  bottle  in  one  hand,  a 

31 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

glass  in  the  other;  in  the  red  glare  we  saw  him 
dancing  in  front  of  the  captain  like  an  unruly 
marionette.  Harris  appeared  to  threaten  him. 
What  he  said  we  could  not  hear  for  the  deep- 
drawn  blast  and  the  high  staccato  crackle  of  the 
blazing  hold.  But  we  saw  the  staggering  steward 
offering  him  a  drink;  saw  the  glass  flung  next  in- 
stant in  the  captain's  face,  the  blood  running,  a 
pistol  drawn,  fired  without  effect,  and  snatched 
away  by  the  drunken  mutineer.  Next  instant  a 
smooth  black  cane  was  raining  blow  after  blow 
on  the  man's  head.  He  dropped;  the  blows  fell 
thick  and  heavy  as  before.  He  lay  wriggling;  the 
Portuguese  struck  and  struck  until  he  lay  quite 
still;  then  we  saw  Joaquin  Santos  kneel,  and  rub 
his  stick  carefully  on  the  still  thing's  clothes,  as  a 
man  might  wipe  his  boots. 

Curses  burst  from  our  throats;  yet  the  fellow 
deserved  to  die.  Nor,  as  I  say,  had  we  time  to 
waste  two  thoughts  upon  any  one  incident.  This 
last  had  begun  and  ended  in  the  same  minute;  in 
another  we  were  at  the  starboard  gangway,  tum- 
bling helter-skelter  aboard  the  lowered  long-boat. 

She  lay  safely  on  the  water:  how  we  thanked 
our  gods  for  that!  Lower  and  lower  sank  her 
gunwale  as  we  dropped  aboard  her,  with  no  more 
care    than   the    Gadarene    swine   whose    fate   we 

32 


To  the  Water's  Edge 

courted.  Discipline,  order,  method,  common  care, 
we  brought  none  of  these  things  with  us  from  our 
floating  furnace ;  but  we  fought  to  be  first  over  the 
bulwarks,  and  in  the  bottom  of  the  long-boat  we 
fought  again. 

And  yet  she  held  us  all!  All,  that  is,  but  a 
terror-stricken  few,  who  lay  along  the  jibboom 
like  flies  upon  a  stick:  all  but  two  or  three  more 
whom  we  left  fatally  hesitating  in  the  forechains: 
all  but  the  selfish  savages  who  had  been  the  first 
to  perish  in  the  pinnace,  and  one  distracted  couple 
who  had  thrown  their  children  into  the  kindly 
ocean,  and  jumped  in  after  them  out  of  their  tor- 
ment, locked  for  ever  in  each  other's  arms. 

Yes!  I  saw  more  things  on  that  starry  night, 
by  that  blood-red  glare,  than  I  have  told  you  in 
their  order,  and  more  things  than  I  shall  tell  you 
now.  Blind  would  I  gladly  be  for  my  few  re- 
maining years,  if  that  night's  horrors  could  be 
washed  from  these  eyes  for  ever.  I  have  said  so 
much,  however,  that  in  common  candor  I  must 
say  one  thing  more.  I  have  spoken  of  selfish  sava- 
ges. God  help  me  and  forgive  me !  For  by  this 
time  I  was  one  myself. 

In  the  long-boat  we  cannot  have  been  less  than 
thirty;  the  exact  number  no  man  will  ever  know. 
But  we  shoved  off  without  mischance;  the  chief 

33 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

mate  had  the  tiller;  the  third  mate  the  boat-hook; 
and  six  or  eight  oars  were  at  work,  in  a  fashion, 
as  we  plunged  among  the  great  smooth  sickening 
mounds  and  valleys  of  fathomless  ink. 

Scarcely  were  we  clear  when  the  foremast 
dropped  down  on  the  fastenings,  dashing  the  jib- 
boom  into  the  water  with  its  load  of  demented 
human  beings.  The  mainmast  followed  by  the 
board  before  we  had  doubled  our  distance  from 
the  wreck.  Both  trailed  to  port,  where  we  could 
not  see  them;  and  now  the  mizzen  stood  alone  in 
sad  and  solitary  grandeur,  her  flapping  idle  sails 
lighted  up  by  the  spreading  conflagration,  so  that 
they  were  stamped  very  sharply  upon  the  black 
arid  starry  sky.  But  the  whole  scene  from  the 
long-boat  was  one  of  startling  brilliancy  and 
horror.  The  fire  now  filled  the  entire  waist  of 
the  vessel,  and  the  noise  of  it  was  as  the  rumble 
and  roar  of  a  volcano.  As  for  the  light,  I  declare 
that  It  put  many  a  star  clean  out,  and  dimmed  the 
radiance  of  all  the  rest,  as  it  flooded  the  sea  for 
miles  around,  and  a  sea  of  molten  glass  reflected 
it.  My  gorge  rose  at  the  long,  low  billows — sleek 
as  black  satin — lifting  and  dipping  in  this  ghastly 
glare.  I  preferred  to  keep  my  eyes  upon  the  little 
ship  burning  like  a  tar  barrel  as  the  picture  grew. 
But  presently  I  thanked  God  aloud :  there  was  the 

34 


To  the  Water's  Edge 

gig  swimming  like  a  beetle  over  the  bloodshot 
rollers  in  our  wake. 

In  our  unspeakable  gladness  at  being  quit  of 
the  ship,  some  minutes  passed  before  we  dis- 
covered that  the  long-boat  was  slowly  filling.  The 
water  was  at  our  ankles  before  a  man  of  us  cried 
out,  so  fast  were  our  eyes  to  the  poor  lost  Lady 
Jermyn.  Then  all  at  once  the  ghastly  fact 
dawned  upon  us ;  and  I  think  it  was  the  mate  him- 
self who  burst  out  crying  like  a  child.  I  never 
ascertained,  however,  for  I  had  kicked  off  my 
shoes  and  was  busy  baling  with  them.  Others 
were  hunting  for  the  leak.  But  the  mischief  was 
as  subtle  as  it  was  mortal — as  though  a  plank  had 
started  from  end  to  end.  Within  and  without  the 
waters  rose  equally — then  lay  an  instant  level  with 
our  gunwales — ^then  swamped  us,  oh!  so  slowly, 
that  I  thought  we  were  never  going  to  sink.  It 
was  like  getting  inch  by  inch  into  your  tub ;  I  can 
feel  it  now,  creeping,  crawling  up  my  back.  "It's 
coming  1  O  Christ!"  muttered  one  as  it  came;  to 
me  it  was  a  downright  relief  to  be  carried  under 
at  last. 

But  then,  thank  God,  I  have  always  been  a 
strong  swimmer.  The  water  was  warm  and 
buoyant,  and  I  came  up  like  a  cork,  as  I  knew  I 
should.     I  shook  the  drops  from  my  face,  and 

35 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

there  were  the  sweet  stars  once  more;  for  many 
an  eye  they  had  gone  out  for  ever;  and  there  the 
burning  wreck. 

A  man  floundered  near  me,  in  a  splutter  of 
phosphorescence.  I  tried  to  help  him,  and  in  an 
instant  he  had  me  wildly  round  the  neck.  In  the 
end  I  shook  him  off,  poor  devil,  to  his  death.  And 
he  was  the  last  I  tried  to  aid:  have  I  not  said 
already  what  I  was  become? 

In  a  little  an  oar  floated  my  way:  I  threw  my 
arms  across  it  and  gripped  It  with  my  chin  as  I 
swam.  It  relieved  me  greatly.  Up  and  down  I 
rode  among  the  oily  black  hillocks;  I  was  down 
when  there  was  a  sudden  flare  as  though  the  sun 
had  risen,  and  I  saw  still  a  few  heads  bobbing 
and  a  few  arms  waving  frantically  around  me. 
At  the  same  instant  a  terrific  detonation  split  the 
ears;  and  when  I  rose  on  the  next  bald  billow, 
where  the  ship  lay  burning  a  few  seconds  be- 
fore, there  remained  but  a  red-hot  spine  that 
hissed  and  dwindled  for  another  minute,  and  then 
left  a  blackness  through  which  every  star  shone 
with  redoubled  brilliance. 

And  now  right  and  left  splashed  falling  mis- 
siles; a  new  source  of  danger  or  of  temporary 
respite;  to  me,  by  a  merciful  Providence,  it  proved 
the  latter. 

36 


To  the  Water's  Edge 

Some  heavy  thing  fell  with  a  mighty  splash 
right  in  front  of  me.  A  few  more  yards,  and 
my  brains  had  floated  with  the  spume.  As  it 
was,  the  oar  was  dashed  from  under  my  arm- 
pits; in  another  moment  they  had  found  a  more 
solid  resting-place. 

It  was  a  hen-coop,  and  It  floated  bars  upwards 
like  a  boat.  In  this  calm  it  might  float  for  days. 
I  climbed  upon  the  bars — and  the  whole  cage 
rolled  over  on  top  of  me. 

Coming  to  the  surface,  I  found  to  my  joy  that 
the  hen-coop  had  righted  itself;  so  now  I  climbed 
up  again,  but  this  time  very  slowly  and  gingerly; 
the  balance  was  undisturbed,  and  I  stretched  my- 
self cautiously  along  the  bars  on  my  stomach.  A 
good  idea  immediately  occurred  to  me.  I  had 
jumped  as  a  matter  of  course  into  the  flannels 
which  one  naturally  wears  in  the  tropics.  To  their 
lightness  I  already  owed  my  life,  but  the  common 
cricket-belt  which  was  part  of  the  costume  was  the 
thing  to  which  I  owe  it  most  of  all.  Loosening 
this  belt  a  little,  as  I  tucked  my  toes  tenaciously 
under  the  endmost  bar,  I  undid  and  passed  the 
two  ends  under  one  of  the  middle  bars,  fastening 
the  clasp  upon  the  other  side.  If  I  capsized  now, 
well,  we  might  go  to  the  bottom  together;  other- 
wise the  hen-coop  and  I  should  not  part  company 

Z7 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

in  a  hurry;  and  I  thought,  I  felt,  that  she  would 
float. 

Worn  out  as  I  was,  and  comparatively  secure 
for  the  moment,  I  will  not  say  that  I  slept;  but 
my  eyes  closed,  and  every  fibre  rested,  as  I  rose 
and  slid  with  the  smooth,  long  swell.  Whether 
I  did  indeed  hear  voices,  curses,  cries,  I  cannot 
say  positively  to  this  day.  I  only  know  that  I 
raised  my  head  and  looked  sharply  all  ways  but 
the  way  I  durst  not  look  for  fear  of  an  upset. 
And,  again,  I  thought  I  saw  first  a  tiny  flame,  and 
then  a  tinier  glow;  and  as  my  head  drooped,  and 
my  eyes  closed  again,  I  say  I  thought  I  smelt 
tobacco;  but  this,  of  course,  was  my  imagination 
supplying  all  the  links  from  one. 


38 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE  SILENT  SEA 

REMEMBER  (if  Indeed  there  be  any  need 
to  remind  you)  that  it  is  a  flagrant  landsman 
who_^  is  telling  you  this  tale.  Nothing  know 
I  of  seamanship,  save  what  one  could  not  avoid 
picking  up  on  the  round  voyage  of  the  Lady 
Jermyn,  never  to  be  completed  on  this  globe.  I 
may  be  told  that  I  have  burned  that  devoted  ves- 
sel as  nothing  ever  burned  on  land  or  sea.  I 
answer  that  I  write  of  what  I  savv^,  and  that  is  not 
altered  by  a  miscalled  spar  or  a  misunderstood 
manoeuvre.  But  now  I  am  aboard  a  craft  I  handle 
for  myself,  and  must  make  shift  to  handle  a  second 
time  with  this  frail  pen. 

The  hen-coop  was  some  six  feet  long,  by  eigh- 
teen or  twenty  Inches  In  breadth  and  depth.  It 
was  simply  a  long  box  with  bars  in  lieu  of  a  lid; 
but  it  was  very  strongly  built. 

I  recognized  it  as  one  of  two  which  had  stood 
lashed  against  either  rail  of  the  Lady  Jermyn's 
poop;  there  the  bars  had  risen  at  right  angles  to 
the  deck;  now  they  lay  horizontal,  a  gridiron  six 

39 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

feet  long — and  my  bed.  And  as  each  particular 
bar  left  its  own  stripe  across  my  wearied  body, 
and  yet  its  own  comfort  in  my  quivering  heart, 
another  day  broke  over  the  face  of  the  waters, 
and  over  me. 

Discipline,  what  there  was  of  it  originally,  had 
been  the  very  first  thing  to  perish  aboard  our  ill- 
starred  ship;  the  officers,  I  am  afraid,  were  not 
much  better  than  poor  Ready  made  them  out 
(thanks  to  Bendigo  and  Ballarat),  and  little  had 
been  done  in  true  ship-shape  style  all  night.  All 
hands  had  taken  their  spell  at  everything  as  the 
fancy  seized  them;  not  a  bell  had  been  struck 
from  first  to  last;  and  I  can  only  conjecture  that 
the  fire  raged  four  or  five  hours,  from  the  fact 
that  it  was  midnight  by  my  watch  when  I  left  it 
on  my  cabin  drawers,  and  that  the  final  extinction 
of  the  smouldering  keel  was  so  soon  followed  by 
the  first  deep  hint  of  dawn.  The  rest  took  place 
with  the  trite  rapidity  of  the  equatorial  latitudes. 
It  had  been  my  foolish  way  to  pooh-pooh  the  old 
saying  that  there  is  no  twilight  in  the  tropics.  I 
saw  more  truth  in  It  as  I  lay  lonely  on  this  heav- 
ing waste. 

The  stars  were  out;  the  sea  was  silver;  the  sun 
was  up. 

And  oh!  the  awful  glory  of  that  sunrise!  It 
40 


The  Silent  Sea 

was  terrific;  It  was  sickening;  my  senses  swam. 
Sunlit  billows  smooth  and  sinister,  without  a  crest, 
without  a  sound;  miles  and  miles  of  them  as  I 
rose;  an  oily  grave  among  them  as  I  fell.  Hill 
after  hill  of  horror,  valley  after  valley  of  despair ! 
The  face  of  the  waters  in  petty  but  eternal  unrest; 
and  now  the  sun  must  shine  to  set  it  smiling,  to 
show  me  Its  cruel  ceaseless  mouthings,  to  reveal 
all  but  the  ghastlier  horrors  underneath. 

How  deep  was  it?  I  fell  to  wondering!  Not 
that  it  makes  any  difference  whether  you  drown 
In  one  fathom  or  in  ten  thousand,  whether  you  fall 
from  a  balloon  or  from  the  attic  window.  But 
the  greater  depth  or  distance  is  the  worse  to  con- 
template; and  I  was  as  a  man  hanging  by  his 
hands  so  high  above  the  world,  that  his  dangling 
feet  cover  countries,  continents;  a  man  who  must 
fall  very  soon,  and  wonders  how  long  he  will  be 
falling,  falling;  and  how  far  his  soul  will  bear  his 
body  company. 

In  time  I  became  more  accustomed  to  the  sun 
upon  this  heaving  void;  less  frightened,  as  a  child 
Is  frightened,  by  the  mere  picture.  And  I  have 
still  the  Impression  that,  as  hour  followed  hour 
since  the  falling  of  the  wind,  the  nauseous  swell 
in  part  subsided.  I  seemed  less  often  on  an  emi- 
nence  or   in   a   pit;   my   glassy   azure   dales   had 

41 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

gentler  slopes,  or  a  distemper  was  melting  from 
my  eyes. 

At  least  I  know  that  I  had  now  less  work  to 
keep  my  frail  ship  trim,  though  this  also  may 
have  come  by  use  and  practice.  In  the  beginning 
one  or  other  of  my  legs  had  been  for  ever  trail- 
ing in  the  sea,  to  keep  the  hen-coop  from  rolling 
over  the  other  way;  in  fact,  as  I  understand  they 
steer  the  toboggan  in  Canada,  so  I  my  little  bark. 
Now  the  necessity  for  this  was  gradually  decreas- 
ing; whatever  the  cause,  it  was  the  greatest  mercy 
the  day  had  brought  me  yet.  With  less  strain  on 
the  attention,  however,  there  was  more  upon  the 
mind.  No  longer  forced  to  exert  some  muscle 
twice  or  thrice  a  minute,  I  had  time  to  feel  very 
faint,  and  yet  time  to  think.  My  soul  flew  hom- 
ing to  its  proper  prison.  I  was  no  longer  any  unit 
at  unequal  strife  with  the  elements;  instincts  com- 
mon to  my  kind  were  no  longer  my  only  stimulus. 
I  was  my  poor  self  again;  it  was  my  own  little 
life,  and  no  other,  that  I  wanted  to  go  on  living; 
and  yet  I  felt  vaguely  there  was  some  special 
thing  I  wished  to  live  for,  something  that  had  not 
been  very  long  in  my  ken;  something  that  had 
perhaps  nerved  and  strengthened  me  all  these 
hours.     What,  then,  could  it  be? 

I  could  not  think.  For  moments  or  for  min- 
42 


The  Silent  Sea 

utes  I  wondered  stupidly,  dazed  as  I  was.  Then 
I  remembered — and  the  tears  gushed  to  my  eyes. 
How  could  I  ever  have  forgotten?  I  deserved 
It  all,  all,  all !  To  think  that  many  a  time  we 
must  have  sat  together  on  this  very  coop !  I 
kissed  Its  blistering  edge  at  the  thought,  and  my 
tears  ran  afresh,  as  though  they  never  would  stop. 

Ah  I  how  I  thought  of  her  as  that  cruel  day's 
most  cruel  sun  climbed  higher  and  higher  In  the 
flawless  flaming  vault.  A  pocket-handkerchief  of 
all  things  had  remained  In  my  trousers  pocket 
through  fire  and  water;  I  knotted  It  on  the  old 
childish  plan,  and  kept  it  ever  drenched  upon  the 
head  that  had  Its  own  fever  to  endure  as  well. 
Eva  Denlson !  Eva  Denlson !  I  was  talking  to 
her  In  the  past,  I  was  talking  to  her  In  the  future, 
and  oh !  how  different  were  the  words,  the  tone ! 
Yes,  I  hated  myself  for  having  forgotten  her; 
but  I  hated  God  for  having  given  her  back  to 
my  tortured  brain;  it  made  life  so  many  thousand- 
fold more  sweet,  and  death  so  many  thousandfold 
more  bitter. 

She  was  saved  in  the  gig.  Sweet  Jesus,  thanks 
for  that!  But  I — I  was  dying  a  lingering  death 
in  mid-ocean;  she  would  never  know  how  I  loved 
her,  I,  who  could  only  lecture  her  when  I  had  her 
at  my  side. 

43 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Dying  ?  No — no — not  yet !  I  must  live — live 
— live — to  tell  my  darling  how  I  had  loved  her 
all  the  time.  So  I  forced  myself  from  my  leth- 
argy of  despair  and  grief;  and  this  thought,  the 
sweetest  thought  of  all  my  life,  may  or  may  not 
have  been  my  unrealized  stimulus  ere  now;  It 
was  in  very  deed  my  most  conscious  and  perpetual 
spur  henceforth  until  the  end. 

From  this  onward,  while  my  sense  stood  by  me, 
I  was  practical,  resourceful,  alert.  It  was  now 
high-noon,  and  I  had  eaten  nothing  since  dinner 
the  night  before.  How  clearly  I  saw  the  long 
saloon  table,  only  laid,  however,  abaft  the  mast; 
the  glittering  glass,  the  cool  white  napery,  the 
poor  old  dried  dessert  in  the  green  dishes!  Ear- 
lier, this  had  occupied  my  mind  an  hour;  now  I 
dismissed  it  in  a  moment;  there  was  Eva,  I  must 
live  for  her ;  there  must  be  ways  of  living  at  least 
a  day  or  two  without  sustenance,  and  I  must  think 
of  them. 

So  I  undid  that  belt  of  mine  which  fastened  me 
to  my  gridiron,  and  I  straddled  my  craft  with  a 
sudden  keen  eye  for  sharks,  of  which  I  never  once 
had  thought  until  now.  Then  I  tightened  the  belt 
about  my  hollow  body,  and  just  sat  there  with  the 
problem.  The  past  hour  I  had  been  wholly  un- 
observant; the   Inner  eye  had  had  its  turn;  but 

44 


The  Silent  Sea 

that  was  over  now,  and  I  sat  as  upright  as  possi- 
ble, seeking  greedily  for  a  sail.  Of  course  I  saw 
none.  Had  we  indeed  been  off  our  course  before 
the  fire  broke  out?  Had  we  burned  to  cinders 
aside  and  apart  from  the  regular  track  of  ships? 
Then,  though  my  present  valiant  mood  might  ig- 
nore the  adverse  chances,  they  were  as  one  hun- 
dred to  a  single  chance  of  deliverance.  Our  burn- 
ing had  brought  no  ship  to  our  succor;  and  how 
should  I,  a  mere  speck  amid  the  waves,  bring  one 
to  mine? 

Moreover,  I  was  all  but  motionless;  I  was 
barely  drifting  at  all.  This  I  saw  from  a  few 
objects  which  were  floating  around  me  now  at 
noon;  they  had  been  with  me  when  the  high  sun 
rose.  One  was,  I  think,  the  very  oar  which  had 
been  my  first  support;  another  was  a  sailor's  cap; 
but  another,  which  floated  nearer,  was  new  to  me, 
as  though  it  had  come  to  the  surface  while  my  eyes 
were  turned  inwards.  And  this  was  clearly  the 
case;  for  the  thing  was  a  drowned  and  bloated 
corpse. 

It  fascinated  me,  though  not  with  extraordinary 
horror;  it  came  too  late  to  do  that.  I  thought  I 
recognized  the  man's  back.  I  fancied  it  was  the 
mate  who  had  taken  charge  of  the  long-boat. 
Was  I  then  the  single  survivor  of  those  thirty 

45 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

souls?  I  was  still  watching  my  poor  lost  com- 
rade,  when  that  happened  to  him  against  which 
even  I  was  not  proof.  Through  the  deep  translu- 
cent blue  beneath  me  a  slim  shape  glided;  three 
smaller  fish  led  the  way;  they  dallied  an  Instant 
a  fathom  under  my  feet,  which  were  snatched  up, 
with  what  haste  you  may  Imagine;  then  on  they 
went  to  surer  prey. 

He  turned  over;  his  dreadful  face  stared  up^ 
wards;  it  was  the  chief  officer,  sure  enough.  Then 
he  clove  the  water  with  a  rush,  his  dead  hand 
waved,  the  last  of  him  to  disappear;  and  I  had 
a  new  horror  to  think  over  for  my  sins.  His 
poor  fingers  were  all  broken  and  beaten  to  a 
pulp. 

The  voices  of  the  night  came  back  to  me — the 
curses  and  the  cries.  Yes,  I  must  have  heard 
them.  In  memory  now  I  recognized  the  voice 
of  the  chief  mate,  but  there  again  came  in  the 
assisted  imagination.  Yet  I  was  not  so  sure  of 
this  as  before.  I  thought  of  Santos  and  his  horri- 
ble heavy  cane.  Good  God !  she  was  In  the  power 
of  that!  I  must  live  for  Eva  indeed;  must  save 
myself  to  save  and  protect  my  Innocent  and  help- 
less girl. 

Again  I  was  a  man;  stronger  than  ever  was  the 
stimulus  now,  louder  than  ever  the  call  on  every 

46 


The  Silent  Sea 

drop  of  true  man's  blood  in  my  perishing  frame. 
It  should  not  perish  !     It  should  not ! 

Yet  my  throat  was  parched;  my  lips  were 
caked;  my  frame  was  hollow.  Very  weak  I  was 
already;  without  sustenance  I  should  surely  die. 
But  as  yet  I  was  far  enough  from  death,  or  I  had 
done  disdaining  the  means  of  hfe  that  all  this  time 
lay  ready  to  my  hand.  A  number  of  dead  fowls 
imparted  ballast  to  my  little  craft. 

Yet  I  could  not  look  at  them  in  all  these  hours; 
or  I  could  look,  but  that  vv^as  all.  So  I  must  sit 
up  one  hour  more,  and  keep  a  sharper  eye  than 
ever  for  the  tiniest  glimmer  of  a  sail.  To  what 
end,  I  often  asked  myself?  I  might  see  them; 
they  would  never  see  me. 

Then  my  eyes  would  fall,  and  "you  squeamish 
fool !"  I  said  at  intervals,  until  my  tongue  failed 
to  articulate ;  it  had  swollen  so  In  my  mouth.  Fly- 
ing fish  skimmed  the  water  like  thick  spray; 
petrels  were  so  few  that  I  could  count  them; 
another  shark  swam  round  me  for  an  hour.  In 
sudden  panic  I  dashed  my  knuckles  on  the  wooden 
bars,  to  get  at  a  duck  to  give  the  monster  for  a 
sop.  My  knuckles  bled.  I  held  them  to  my 
mouth.  My  cleaving  tongue  wanted  more.  The 
duck  went  to  the  shark;  a  few  minutes  more  and 
I  had  made  my  own  vile  meal  as  well. 

47 


CHAPTER   V 

MY    REWARD 

THE  sun  declined;  my  shadow  broadened  on 
the  waters;  and  now  I  felt  that  if  my  cockle- 
shell could  live  a  little  longer,  why,  so  could  I. 

I  had  got  at  the  fowls  without  further  hurt. 
Some  of  the  bars  took  out,  I  discovered  how. 
And  now  very  carefully  I  got  my  legs  in,  and 
knelt;  but  the  change  of  posture  was  not  worth 
the  risk  one  ran  for  it;  there  was  too  much  danger 
of  capsizing,  and  failing  to  free  oneself  before  she 
filled  and  sank. 

With  much  caution  I  began  breaking  the  bars, 
one  by  one;  it  was  hard  enough,  weak  as  I  was; 
my  thighs  were  of  more  service  than  my  hands. 

But  at  last  I  could  sit,  the  grating  only  cover- 
ing me  from  the  knees  downwards.  And  the 
relief  of  that  outweighed  all  the  danger,  which, 
as  I  discovered  to  my  untold  joy,  was  now  much 
less  than  it  had  been  before. 

I  was  better  ballast  than  the  fowls. 

These  I  had  attached  to  the  lashings  which  had 
been  blown  asunder  by  the  explosion;  at  one  end 
of  the  coop  the  ring-bolt  had  been  torn  clean  out, 

48 


My  Reward 

but  at  the  other  It  was  the  cordage  that  had 
parted.  To  the  frayed  ends  I  tied  my  fowls  by 
the  legs,  with  the  most  foolish  pride  in  my  own 
cunning.  Do  you  not  see?  It  would  keep  them 
fresh  for  my  use,  and  it  was  a  trick  I  had  read 
of  in  no  book;  it  was  all  my  own. 

So  evening  fell  and  found  me  hopeful  and  even 
puffed  up ;  but  yet,  no  sail. 

Now,  however,  I  could  lie  back,  and  use  had 
given  me  a  strange  sense  of  safety;  besides,  I 
think  I  knew,  I  hope  I  felt,  that  the  hen-coop  was 
in  other  Hands  than  mine. 

All  is  reaction  in  the  heart  of  man;  light  fol- 
lows darkness  nowhere  more  surely  than  In  that 
hidden  self,  and  now  at  sunset  it  was  my  heart's 
high-noon.  Deep  peace  pervaded  me  as  I  lay  out- 
stretched In  my  narrow  rocking  bed,  as  It  might 
be  In  my  coffin;  a  trust  in  my  Maker's  will  to  save 
me  If  that  were  for  the  best,  a  trust  In  His  final 
wisdom  and  loving-kindness,  even  though  this 
night  should  be  my  last  on  earth.  For  myself 
I  was  resigned,  and  for  others  I  must  trust  Him 
no  less.  Who  was  I  to  constitute  myself  the 
protector  of  the  helpless,  when  He  was  in  His 
Heaven?  Such  was  my  sunset  mood;  it  lasted  a 
few  minutes,  and  then,  without  radically  chang- 
ing, It  became  more  objective. 

49 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

The  west  was  a  broadening  blaze  of  yellow 
and  purple  and  red.  I  cannot  describe  it  to  you. 
If  you  have  seen  the  sun  set  in  the  tropics,  you 
would  despise  my  description;  and,  if  not,  I  for 
one  could  never  make  you  see  it.  Suffice  it  that  a 
petrel  wheeled  somewhere  between  deepening  car- 
mine and  paling  blue,  and  it  took  my  thoughts  off 
at  an  earthy  tangent.  I  thanked  God  there  were 
no  big  sea-birds  in  these  latitudes;  no  molly-hawks, 
no  albatrosses,  no  Cape-hens.  I  thought  of  an  alba- 
tross that  I  had  caught  going  out.  Its  beak  and 
talons  were  at  the  bottom  with  the  charred  remains 
of  the  Lady  Jermyn.  But  I  could  see  them  still, 
could  feel  them  shrewdly  in  my  mind's  flesh;  and 
so  to  the  old  superstition,  strangely  justified  by  my 
case;  and  so  to  the  poem  which  I,  with  my  spe- 
cial experience,  not  unnaturally  consider  the  great- 
est poem  ever  penned. 

But  I  did  not  know  it  then  as  I  do  now — and 
how  the  lines  eluded  me!  I  seemed  to  see  them 
in  the  book,  yet  I  could  not  read  the  words ! 

"Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink." 

That,  of  course,  came  first  (incorrectly)  ;  and 
it  reminded  me  of  my  thirst,  which  the  blood  of 

50 


My  Reward 

the  fowls  had  so  very  partially  appeased.  I  see 
now  that  It  is  lucky  I  could  recall  but  little  more. 
Experience  Is  less  terrible  than  realization,  and 
that  poem  makes  me  realize  what  I  went  through 
as  memory  cannot.  It  has  verses  which  would 
have  driven  me  mad.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
exhaustive  mental  search  for  them  distracted  my 
thoughts  until  the  stars  were  back  in  the  sky;  and 
now  I  had  a  new  occupation,  saying  to  myself  all 
the  poetry  I  could  remember,  especially  that  of 
the  sea;  for  I  was  a  bookish  fellow  even  then. 
But  I  never  was  anything  of  a  scholar.  It  Is  odd, 
therefore,  that  the  one  apposite  passage  which 
recurred  to  me  in  its  entirety  was  in  hexameters 
and  pentameters: — 

Me  miserum,  quanti  montes  volvuntur  aquarum! 

Jam  jam  tacturos  sidera  summa  putes. 
Quantse  diducto  subsidunt  aequore  valles! 

Jam  jam  tacturas  Tartara  nigra  putes. 
Quocunque  adspicio,  nihil  est  nisi  pontus  et  aether; 

Fluctibus  hie  tumidis,  nubibus  ille  minax.    .    .    . 

More  there  was  of  it  in  my  head;  but  this  much 
was  an  accurate  statement  of  my  case;  and  yet 
less  so  now  (I  was  thankful  to  reflect)  than  in 
the  morning,  when  every  wave  was  indeed  a 
mountain,  and  its  trough  a  Tartarus.    I  had  learnt 

51 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  lines  at  school ;  nay,  they  had  formed  my  very 
earliest  piece  of  Latin  repetition.  And  how 
sharply  I  saw  the  room  I  said  them  in,  the  man  I 
said  them  to,  ever  since  my  friend !  I  figured  him 
even  now  hearing  Ovid  rep.,  the  same  passage  in 
the  same  room.  And  I  lay  saying  it  on  a  hen- 
coop in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean! 

At  last  I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  a  long  uncon- 
scious holiday  of  the  soul,  undefiled  by  any  dream. 

They  say  that  our  dreaming  is  done  as  we 
slowly  wake;  then  was  I  out  of  the  way  of  it  that 
night,  for  a  sudden  violent  rocking  awoke  me  In 
one  horrid  instant.  I  made  it  worse  by  the  way 
I  started  to  a  sitting  posture.  I  had  shipped  some 
water.  I  was  shipping  more.  Yet  all  around  the 
sea  was  glassy;  whence  then  the  commotion?  As 
my  ship  came  trim  again,  and  I  saw  that  my  hour 
was  not  yet,  the  cause  occurred  to  me;  and  my 
heart  turned  so  sick  that  it  was  minutes  before  I 
had  the  courage  to  test  my  theory. 

It  was  the  true  one. 

A  shark  had  been  at  my  trailing  fowls;  had 
taken  the  bunch  of  them  together,  dragging  the 
legs  from  my  loose  fastenings.  Lucky  they  had 
been  no  stronger !  Else  had  I  been  dragged  down 
to  perdition  too. 

Lucky,  did  I  say?  The  refinement  of  cruelty 
52 


My  Reward 

rather;  for  now  I  had  neither  meat  nor  drink; 
my  throat  was  a  kiln;  my  tongue  a  flame;  and  an- 
other day  at  hand. 

The  stars  were  out;  the  sea  was  silver;  the  sun 
was  up ! 


Hours  passed. 

I  was  waiting  now  for  my  delirium. 

•It  came  in  bits. 

I  was  a  child.  I  was  playing  on  the  lawn  at 
home.    I  was  back  on  the  blazing  sea. 

I  was  a  schoolboy  saying  my  Ovid;  then  back 
once  more. 

The  hen-coop  was  the  Lady  Jermyn.  I  was  at 
Eva  Denison's  side.  They  were  marrying  us  on 
board.  The  ship's  bell  was  ringing  for  us;  a 
guitar  in  the  background  burlesqued  the  Wedding 
March  under  skinny  fingers;  the  air  was  poisoned 
by  a  million  cigarettes,  they  raised  a  pall  of  smoke 
above  the  mastheads,  they  set  fire  to  the  ship ; 
smoke  and  flame  covered  the  sea  from  rim  to  rim, 
smoke  and  flame  filled  the  universe;  the  sea  dried 
up,  and  I  was  left  lying  in  Its  bed,  lying  In  my 
cofiin,  with  red-hot  teeth,  because  the  sun  blazed 
right  above  them,  and  my  withered  lips  were 
drawn  back  from  them  for  ever. 

So  once  more  I  came  back  to  my  living  death; 
53 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

too  weak  now  to  carry  a  finger  to  the  salt  water 
and  back  to  my  mouth ;  too  weak  to  think  of  Eva ; 
too  weak  to  pray  any  longer  for  the  end,  to  trouble 
or  to  care  any  more. 
Only  so  tired. 

Death  has  no  more  terrors  for  me.  I  have 
supped  the  last  horror  of  the  worst  death  a  man 
can  die.  You  shall  hear  now  for  what  I  was  de- 
livered; 3'ou  shall  read  of  my  reward. 

My  floating  coffin  was  many  things  in  turn;  a 
railway  carriage,  a  pleasure  boat  on  the  Thames, 
a  hammock  under  the  trees;  last  of  all  it  was  the 
upper  berth  in  a  not  very  sweet-smelling  cabin, 
with  a  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  near  at  hand, 
and  a  very  strong  odor  of  onions  in  the  Irish  stew. 

My  hand  crawled  to  my  head ;  both  felt  a  won- 
drous weight;  and  my  head  was  covered  with 
bristles  no  longer  than  those  on  my  chin,  only  less 
stubborn. 

"Where  am  I?"  I  feebly  asked. 

The  knives  and  forks  clattered  on,  and  presently 
I  burst  out  crying  because  they  had  not  heard  me, 
and  I  knew  that  I  could  never  make  them  hear. 
Well,  they  heard  my  sobs,  and  a  huge  fellow  came 
with  his  mouth  full,  and  smelling  like  a  pickle 
bottle. 

54 


My  Reward 


"Where  am  I?" 

"Aboard  the  brig  Eliza,  Liverpool,  homeward 
bound;  glad  to  see  them  eyes  open." 

"Have  I  been  here  long?" 

"Matter  o'  ten  days." 

"Where  did  you  find  me?" 

"Floating  in  a  hen-coop;  thought  you  was  a 
dead  'un." 

"Do  you  know  what  ship?" 

"Do  we  know?  No,  that's  what  you've  got  to 
tell  us!" 

"I  can't,"  I  sighed,  too  weak  to  wag  my  head 
upon  the  pillow. 

The  man  went  to  my  cabin  door. 

"Here's  a  go,"  said  he;  "forgotten  the  name 
of  his  blessed  ship,  he  has.  Where's  that  there 
paper,  Mr.  Bowles?  There's  just  a  chance  it  may 
be  the  same." 

"I've  got  it,  sir." 

"Well,  fetch  it  along,  and  come  you  in,  Mr. 
Bowles;  likely  you  may  think  o'  somethin'." 

A  reddish,  hook-nosed  man,  with  a  jaunty, 
wicked  look,  came  and  smiled  upon  me  in  the 
friendliest  fashion;  the  smell  of  onions  became 
more  than  I  knew  how  to  endure. 

"Ever  hear  of  the  ship  Lady  Jermynf"  asked 
the  first  comer,  winking  at  the  other. 

55 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  thought  very  hard,  the  name  did  sound  fa- 
miliar; but  no,  I  could  not  honestly  say  that  I  had 
heard  it  before. 

The  captain  looked  at  his  mate. 

"It  was  a  thousand  to  one,"  said  he;  "still  we 
may  as  well  try  him  with  the  other  names.  Ever 
heard  of  Cap'n  Harris,  mister?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Of  Saunderson — stooard?" 

"No." 

"Or  Crookes — quartermaster." 

"Never." 

"Nor  yet  of  Ready — a  passenger?'* 

"No." 

"It's  no  use  goin'  on,"  said  the  captain,  folding 
up  the  paper. 

"None  whatever,  sir,"  said  the  mate. 

"Ready!  Ready!"  I  repeated.  "I  do  seem  to 
have  heard  that  name  before.  Won't  you  give  me 
another  chance?" 

The  paper  was  unfolded  with  a  shrug. 

"There  was  another  passenger  of  the  name  of 
San — Santos.  Dutchman,  seemin'ly.  Ever  heard 
o'  himf" 

My  disappointment  was  keen.  I  could  not  say 
that  I  had.  Yet  I  would  not  swear  that  I 
had  not. 

56 


My  Reward 

"Oh,  won't  you?  Well,  there's  only  one  more 
chance.     Ever  heard  of  Miss  Eva  Denison " 

"By  God,  yes  !    Have  yoii?" 

I  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  my  bunk.  The 
skipper's  beard  dropped  upon  his  chest. 

"Bless  my  soul !    The  last  name  o'  the  lot,  too  !" 

"Have  you  heard  of  her?"  I  reiterated. 

"Wait  a  bit,  my  lad  I  Not  so  fast.  Lie  down 
again  and  tell  me  who  she  was." 

"Who  she  was  ?"  I  screamed.  "I  want  to  know 
where  she  is !" 

"I  can't  hardly  say,"  said  the  captain  awk- 
wardly. "We  found  the  gig  o'  the  Lady  Jermyn 
the  week  arter  we  found  you,  bein'  becalmed  like; 
there  wasn't  no  lady  aboard  her,  though." 

"Was  there  anybody?" 

"Two  dead  'uns — an'  this  here  paper." 

"Let  me  see  it!" 

The  skipper  hesitated. 

"Hadn't  you  better  wait  a  bit?" 

"No,  no;  for  Christ's  sake  let  me  see  the  worst; 
do  you  think  I  can't  read  it  in  your  face?" 

I  could — I  did.  I  made  that  plain  to  them, 
and  at  last  I  had  the  paper  smoothed  out  upon  my 
knees.  It  was  a  short  statement  of  the  last  suf- 
ferings of  those  who  had  escaped  in  the  gig,  and 
there  was  nothing  in  it  that  I  did  not  now  expect. 

57 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

They  had  buried  Ready  first — then  my  darling — 
then  her  step-father.  The  rest  expected  to  follow 
fast  enough.  It  was  all  written  plainly,  on  a 
sheet  of  the  log-book,  in  different  trembling  hands. 
Captain  Harris  had  gone  next;  and  two  had  been 
discovered  dead. 

How  long  I  studied  that  bit  of  crumpled  paper, 
with  the  salt  spray  still  sparkling  on  it  faintly, 
God  alone  knows.  All  at  once  a  peal  of  nightmare 
laughter  rattled  through  the  cabin.  My  deliverers 
started  back.     The  laugh  was  mine. 


58 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE    SOLE    SURVIVOR 

A  FEW  weeks  later  I  landed  In  England,  I, 
who  no  longer  desired  to  set  foot  on  any 
land  again. 

At  nine-and-twenty  I  was  gaunt  and  gray;  my 
nerves  were  shattered,  my  heart  was  broken;  and 
my  face  showed  it  without  let  or  hindrance  from 
the  spirit  that  was  broken  too.  Pride,  will,  cour- 
age, and  endurance,  all  these  had  expired  in  my 
long  and  lonely  battle  with  the  sea.  They  had 
kept  me  alive — for  this.  And  now  they  left  me 
naked  to  mine  enemies. 

For  every  hand  seemed  raised  against  me, 
though  in  reality  it  was  the  hand  of  fellowship 
that  the  world  stretched  out,  and  the  other  was 
the  reading  of  a  jaundiced  eye.  I  could  not  help 
it :  there  was  a  poison  in  my  veins  that  made  me 
all  ingratitude  and  perversity.  The  world  wel- 
comed me  back,  and  I  returned  the  compliment  by 
sulking  like  the  recaptured  runaway  I  was  at  heart. 
The  world  showed  a  sudden  interest  in  me;  so  I 
took  no  further  interest  in  the  world,  but,  on  the 

59 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

contrary,  resented  its  attentions  with  unreason- 
able warmth  and  obduracy;  and  my  would-be 
friends  I  regarded  as  my  very  worst  enemies. 
The  majority,  I  feel  sure,  meant  but  well  and 
kindly  by  the  poor  survivor.  But  the  survivor 
could  not  forget  that  his  name  was  still  In  the 
newspapers,  nor  blink  the  fact  that  he  was  an 
unworthy  hero  of  the  passing  hour.  And  he  suf- 
fered enough  from  brazenly  meddlesome  and  self- 
seeking  folk,  from  Impudent  and  inquisitive  intru- 
ders, to  justify  some  suspicion  of  old  acquaintances 
suddenly  styling  themselves  old  friends,  and  of 
distant  connections  newly  and  unduly  eager  to 
claim  relationship.  Many  I  misjudged,  and  have 
long  known  It.  On  the  whole,  however,  I  wonder 
at  that  attitude  of  mine  as  little  as  I  approve 
of  it. 

If  I  had  distinguished  myself  in  any  other  way, 
it  would  have  been  a  different  thing.  It  was  the 
fussy,  sentimental.  Inconsiderate  Interest  in  one 
thrown  Into  purely  accidental  and  necessarily  pain- 
ful prominence — the  vulgarization  of  an  unspeak- 
able tragedy — that  my  soul  abhorred.  I  confess 
that  I  regarded  It  from  my  own  unique  and  selfish 
point  of  view.  What  was  a  thrilling  matter  to 
the  world  was  a  torturing  memory  to  me.  The 
quintessence   of  the   torture  was,   moreover,   my 

60 


The  Sole  Survivor 

own  secret.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  the  Lady  Jer- 
myn  that  I  could  not  bear  to  speak  about;  it  was 
my  own  loss ;  but  the  one  Involved  the  other.  My 
loss  apart,  however,  it  was  plain  enough  to  dwell 
upon  experiences  so  terrible  and  yet  so  recent  as 
those  which  I  had  lived  to  tell.  I  did  what  I  con- 
sidered my  duty  to  the  public,  but  I  certainly  did 
no  more.  My  reticence  was  rebuked  in  the  papers 
th-at  made  the  most  of  me,  but  would  fain  have 
made  more.  And  yet  I  do  not  think  that  I  was 
anything  but  docile  with  those  who  had  a  mani- 
fest right  to  question  me;  to  the  owners,  and  to 
other  interested  persons,  with  whom  I  was  con- 
fronted on  one  pretext  or  another,  I  told  my  tale 
as  fully  and  as  freely  as  I  have  told  it  here,  though 
each  telling  hurt  more  than  the  last.  That  was 
necessary  and  unavoidable;  it  was  the  private  in- 
trusions which  I  resented  with  all  the  spleen  the 
sea  had  left  me  in  exchange  for  the  qualities  it  had 
taken  away. 

Relatives  I  had  as  few  as  misanthropist  could 
desire;  but  from  self-congratulation  on  the  fact, 
on  first  landing,  I  soon  came  to  keen  regret.  They 
at  least  would  have  sheltered  me  from  spies  and 
busybodies;  they  at  least  would  have  secured  the 
peace  and  privacy  of  one  who  was  no  hero  in  fact 
or  spirit,  whose  noblest  deed  was  a  piece  of  self- 

6i 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

preservation  which  he  wished  undone  with  all  his 
heart. 

Self-consciousness  no  doubt  multiplied  my  flat- 
tering assailants.  I  have  said  that  my  nerves  were 
shattered.  I  may  have  imagined  much  and  exag- 
gerated the  rest.  Yet  what  truth  there  was  In  my 
suspicions  you  shall  duly  see.  I  felt  sure  that  I 
was  followed  in  the  street,  and  my  every  move- 
ment dogged  by  those  to  whom  I  would  not  con- 
descend to  turn  and  look.  Meanwhile,  I  had  not 
the  courage  to  go  near  my  club,  and  the  Temple 
was  a  place  where  I  was  accosted  in  every  court, 
effusively  congratulated  on  the  marvellous  preser- 
vation of  my  stale  spoilt  life,  and  invited  right 
and  left  to  spin  my  yarn  over  a  quiet  pipe !  Well, 
perhaps  such  invitations  were  not  so  common  as 
they  have  grown  In  my  memory ;  nor  must  you  con- 
fuse my  then  feelings  on  all  these  matters  with 
those  which  I  entertain  as  I  write.  I  have  grown 
older,  and,  I  hope,  something  kindlier  and  wiser 
since  then.  Yet  to  this  day  I  cannot  blame  myself 
for  abandoning  my  chambers  and  avoiding  my  club. 

For  a  temporary  asylum  I  pitched  upon  a  small, 
quiet,  empty,  private  hotel  which  I  knew  of  in 
Charterhouse  Square.  Instantly  the  room  next 
mine  became  occupied. 

All  the  first  night  I  Imagined  I  heard  voices  talk- 
62 


The  Sole  Survivor 

ing  about  me  in  that  room  next  door.  It  was 
becoming  a  disease  with  me.  Either  I  was  being 
dogged,  watched,  followed,  day  and  night,  indoors 
and  out,  or  I  was  the  victim  of  a  very  ominous 
hallucination.  That  night  I  never  closed  an  eye 
nor  lowered  my  light.  In  the  morning  I  took  a> 
four-wheel  cab  and  drove  straight  to  Harley 
Street;  and,  upon  my  soul,  as  I  stood  on  the  spe- 
cialist's door-step,  I  could  have  sworn  I  saw  the 
occupant  of  the  room  next  mine  dash  by  me  In  a 
hansom ! 

"Ah!"  said  the  specialist;  "so  you  cannot  sleep; 
you  hear  voices ;  you  fancy  you  are  being  followed 
in  the  street.  You  don't  think  these  fancies  spring 
entirely  from  the  imagination?  Not  entirely — 
just  so.  And  you  keep  looking  behind  you,  as 
though  somebody  were  at  your  elbow;  and  you 
prefer  to  sit  with  your  back  close  to  the  wall. 
Just  so — just  so.  Distressing  symptoms,  to  be 
sure,  but — but  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  in  a  man 
who  has  come  through  your  nervous  strain."  A 
keen  professional  light  glittered  in  his  eyes.  "And 
almost  commonplace,"  he  added,  smiling,  "com- 
pared with  the  hallucinations  you  must  have  suf- 
fered from  on  that  hen-coop!  Ah,  my  dear  sir, 
the  psychological  Interest  of  your  case  Is  very 
great!" 

63 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"It  may  be,"  said  I,  brusquely.  "But  I  come 
to  you  to  get  that  hen-coop  out  of  my  head,  not 
to  be  reminded  of  it.  Everybody  asks  me  about 
the  damned  thing,  and  you  follow  everybody  else. 
I  wish  It  and  I  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
together!" 

This  speech  had  the  effect  of  really  interesting 
the  doctor  in  my  present  condition,  which  was  in- 
deed one  of  chronic  Irritation  and  extreme  excita- 
bility, alternating  with  fits  of  the  very  blackest 
despair.  Instead  of  offending  my  gentleman  I  had 
put  him  on  his  mettle,  and  for  half  an  hour  he 
honored  me  with  the  most  exhaustive  inquisition 
ever  elicited  from  a  medical  man.  His  panacea 
was  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  an  anti-climax,  but 
at  least  It  had  the  merits  of  simplicity  and  of  com- 
mon sense.  A  change  of  air — perfect  quiet — say 
a  cottage  in  the  country — not  too  near  the  sea. 
And  he  shook  my  hand  kindly  when  I  left. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he. 
"Keep  up  your  courage  and  your  heart." 

"My  heart !"  I  cried.  "It's  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Atlantic  Ocean." 

He  was  the  first  to  whom  I  had  said  as  much. 
He  was  a  stranger.  What  did  It  matter?  And, 
oh.  It  was  so  true — so  true. 

Every  day  and  all  day  I  was  thinking  of  my  love ; 
64 


The  Sole  Survivor 

every  hour  and  all  hours  she  was  before  me  with 
her  sunny  hair  and  young,  young  face.  Her  wist- 
ful eyes  were  gazing  into  mine  continually.  Their 
wistfulness  I  had  never  realized  at  the  time;  but 
now  I  did;  and  I  saw  it  for  what  it  seemed  always 
to  have  been,  the  soft,  sad,  yearning  look  of  one 
fated  to  die  young.  So  young — so  young!  And 
I  might  live  to  be  an  old  man,  mourning  her. 

.That  I  should  never  love  again  I  knew  full  well. 
This  time  there  was  no  mistake.  I  have  implied, 
I  believe,  that  it  was  for  another  woman  I  fled 
originally  to  the  diggings.  Well,  that  one  was  still 
unmarried,  and  when  the  papers  were  full  of  me 
she  wrote  me  a  letter  which  I  now  believe  to  have 
been  merely  kind.  At  the  time  I  was  all  uncharita- 
bleness;  but  words  of  mine  would  fail  to  tell  you 
how  cold  this  letter  left  me;  it  was  as  a  candle 
lighted  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun. 

With  all  my  bitterness,  however,  you  must  not 
suppose  that  I  had  quite  lost  the  feelings  which  had 
inspired  me  at  sunset  on  the  lonely  ocean,  while  my 
mind  still  held  good.  I  had  been  too  near  my 
Maker  ever  to  lose  those  feelings  altogether.  They 
were  with  me  in  the  better  moments  of  these  my 
worst  days.  I  trusted  His  wisdom  still.  There 
was  a  reason  for  everything;  there  were  reasons 
for  all  this.    I  alone  had  been  saved  out  of  all  those 

65 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

souls  who  sailed  from  Melbourne  In  the  Lady 
Jertnyn.  Why  should  I  have  been  the  favored 
one;  I  with  my  broken  heart  and  now  lonely  life? 
Some  great  inscrutable  reason  there  must  be;  at 
my  worst  I  did  not  deny  that.  But  neither  did  I 
puzzle  my  sick  brain  with  the  reason.  I  just  waited 
for  it  to  be  revealed  to  me,  if  it  were  God's  will 
ever  to  reveal  it.  And  that  I  conceive  to  be  the  one 
spirit  in  which  a  man  may  contemplate,  with  equal 
sanity  and  reverence,  the  mysteries  and  the  miseries 
of  his  life. 


66 


CHAPTER    VII 

I    FIND   A    FRIEND 

THE  night  after  I  consulted  the  specialist  I 
was  quite  determined  to  sleep.  I  had  laid 
in  a  bundle  of  the  daily  papers.  No  country  cot- 
tage was  advertised  to  let  but  I  knew  of  it  by 
evening,  and  about  all  the  likely  ones  I  had  already 
written.  The  scheme  occupied  my  thoughts. 
Trout-fishing  was  a  desideratum.  I  would  take  my 
rod  and  plenty  of  books,  would  live  simply  and 
frugally,  and  it  should  make  a  new  man  of  me  by 
Christmas.  It  was  now  October.  I  went  to  sleep 
thinking  of  autumn  tints  against  an  autumn  sunset. 
It  must  have  been  very  early,  certainly  not  later 
than  ten  o'clock;  the  previous  night  I  had  nol 
slept  at  all. 

Now,  this  private  hotel  of  mine  was  a  very  old- 
fashioned  house,  dark  and  dingy  all  day  long,  with 
heavy  old  chandeliers  and  black  old  oak,  and  dead 
flowers  in  broken  flower-pots  surrounding  a  grimy 
grass-plot  in  the  rear.  On  this  latter  my  bedroom 
window  looked;  and  never  am  I  likely  to  forget  the 
vile  music  of  the  cats  throughout  my  first  long 

67 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

wakeful  night  there.  The  second  night  they  actu- 
ally woke  me;  doubtless  they  had  been  busy  long 
enough,  but  it  was  all  of  a  sudden  that  I  heard 
them,  and  lay  listening  for  more,  wide  awake  in  an 
instant.  My  window  had  been  very  softly  opened, 
and  the  draught  fanned  my  forehead  as  I  held  my 
breath. 

A  faint  light  glimmered  through  a  ground-glass 
pane  over  the  door;  and  was  dimly  reflected  by  the 
toilet  mirror,  in  its  usual  place  against  the  window. 
This  mirror  I  saw  moved,  and  next  moment  I  had 
bounded  from  bed. 

The  mirror  fell  with  a  horrid  clatter:  the  toilet- 
table  followed  it  with  a  worse :  the  thief  had  gone 
as  he  had  come  ere  my  toes  halted  aching  amid  the 
debris. 

A  useless  little  balcony — stone  slab  and  iron  rail- 
ing— ^jutted  out  from  my  window.  I  thought  I 
saw  a  hand  on  the  railing,  another  on  the  slab,  then 
both  together  on  the  lower  level  for  one  instant 
before  they  disappeared.  There  was  a  dull  yet 
springy  thud  on  the  grass  below.  Then  no  more 
noise  but  the  distant  thunder  of  the  traffic,  and  the 
one  that  woke  me,  until  the  window  next  mine  was 
thrown  up. 

"What  the  devil's  up?" 

The  voice  was  rich,  cheery,  light-hearted,  agree- 
68 


I  Find  a  Friend 

able;  all  that  my  own  was  not  as  I  answered 
"Nothing!"  for  this  was  not  the  first  time  my  next- 
door  neighbor  had  tried  to  scrape  acquaintance 
with  me. 

"But  surely,  sir,  I  heard  the  very  dickens  of  a 
row?" 

"You  may  have  done." 

"I  was  afraid  some  one  had  broken  into  your 
room !" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  I,  put  to  shame  by 
the  undiminished  good-humor  of  my  neighbor, 
"some  one  did;  but  he's  gone  now,  so  let  him  be." 

"Gone  ?  Not  he !  He's  getting  over  that  wall. 
After  him — after  him!"  And  the  head  disap- 
peared from  the  window  next  mine. 

I  rushed  into  the  corridor,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  intercept  a  singularly  handsome  young  fellow, 
at  whom  I  had  hardly  taken  the  trouble  to  look 
until  now.  He  was  in  full  evening  dress,  and  his 
face  was  radiant  with  the  spirit  of  mischief  and 
adventure. 

"For  God's  sake,  sir,"  I  whispered,  "let  this 
matter  rest.  I  shall  have  to  come  forward  if  you 
persist,  and  Heaven  knows  I  have  been  before  the 
public  quite  enough !" 

His  dark  eyes  questioned  me  an  instant,  then  fell 
as  though  he  would  not  disguise  that  he  recollected 

69 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

and  understood.  I  liked  him  for  his  good  taste. 
I  hked  him  for  his  tacit  sympathy,  and  better  still 
for  the  amusing  disappointment  in  his  gallant, 
young  face. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  robbed  you  of  a  pleasant 
chase,"  said  I.  "At  one  time  I  should  have  been  the 
first  to  join  you.  But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  had 
enough  excitement  lately  to  last  me  for  my  life." 

"I  can  believe  that,"  he  answered,  with  his  fine 
eyes  full  upon  me.  How  strangely  I  had  mis- 
judged him !  I  saw  no  vulgar  curiosity  in  his  flat- 
tering gaze,  but  rather  that  very  sympathy  of  which 
I  stood  in  need.     I  offered  him  my  hand. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  give  in,"  I  said.  "No 
one  else  has  heard  a  thing,  you  see.  I  shall 
look  for  another  opportunity  of  thanking  you  to- 
morrow." 

"No,  no!"  cried  he,  "thanks  be  hanged,  but — 
but,  I  say,  if  I  promise  you  not  to  bore  you  about 
things — won't  you  drink  a  glass  of  brandy-and- 
water  in  my  room  before  you  turn  in  again?" 

Brandy-and-water  being  the  very  thing  I  needed, 
and  this  young  man  pleasing  me  more  and  more, 
I  said  that  I  would  join  him  with  all  my  heart, 
and  returned  to  my  room  for  my  dressing-gown 
and  slippers.  To  find  them,  hov/ever,  I  had  to 
light  my  candles,  when  the  first  thing  I  saw  was 

70 


I  Find  a  Friend 

the  havoc  my  marauder  had  left  behind  him.  The 
mirror  was  cracked  across;  the  dressing-table  had 
lost  a  leg;  and  both  lay  flat,  with  my  brushes  and 
shaving-table,  and  the  foolish  toilet  crocker}'  which 
no  one  uses  (but  I  should  have  to  replace)  strewn 
upon  the  carpet.  But  one  thing  I  found  that  had 
not  been  there  before :  under  the  window  lay  a 
formidable  sheath-knife  without  Its  sheath.  I 
picked  it  up  with  something  of  a  thrill,  which  did 
not  lessen  when  I  felt  its  edge.  The  thing  was 
diabolically  sharp.  I  took  it  with  me  to  show  my 
neighbor,  whom  I  found  giving  his  order  to  the 
boots;  It  seemed  that  It  was  barely  midnight,  and 
that  he  had  only  just  come  in  when  the  clatter  took 
place  In  my  room. 

"Hillo !"  he  cried,  when  the  man  was  gone,  and 
I  produced  my  trophy.  "Why,  what  the  mischief 
have  you  got  there?" 

"My  caller's  card,"  said  I.  "He  left  it  behind 
him.     Feel  the  edge." 

I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  Indignant  face  than 
the  one  which  my  new  acquaintance  bent  over  the 
weapon,  as  he  held  it  to  the  light,  and  ran  his  finger 
along  the  blade.  He  could  have  not  frowned  more 
heavily  If  he  had  recognized  the  knife. 

"The  villains!"  he  muttered.  "The  damned 
villains!" 

71 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"Villains?"  I  queried.  "Did  you  see  more  than 
one  of  them,  then?" 

"Didn't  you?"  he  asked  quickly.  "Yes,  yes,  to 
be  sure  1  There  was  at  least  one  other  beggar 
skulking  down  below."  He  stood  looking  at  me, 
the  knife  in  his  hand,  though  mine  was  held  out 
for  it.  "Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Cole,  that  It's  our 
duty  to  hand  this  over  to  the  police?  I — I've 
heard  of  other  cases  about  these  Inns  of  Court. 
There's  evidently  a  gang  of  them,  and  this  knife 
might  convict  the  lot;  there's  no  saying;  anyway  I 
think  the  police  should  have  it.  If  you  hke  I'll 
take  it  to  Scotland  Yard  myself,  and  hand  It  over 
without  mentioning  your  name." 

"Oh,  if  you  keep  my  name  out  of  it,"  said  I, 
"and  say  nothing  about  It  here  in  the  hotel,  you 
may  do  what  you  like,  and  welcome!  It's  the 
proper  course,  no  doubt;  only  I've  had  publicity 
enough,  and  would  sooner  have  felt  that  blade  In 
my  body  than  set  my  name  going  again  in  the 
newspapers." 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  with  his  well-bred  sym- 
pathy, which  never  went  a  shade  too  far;  and  he 
dropped  the  weapon  into  a  drawer,  as  the  boots 
entered  with  the  tray.  In  a  minute  he  had  brewed 
two  steaming  jorums  of  spirits-and-water;  as  he 
handed  me  one,  I  feared  he  was  going  to  drink  my 

72 


I  Find  a  Friend 

health,  or  toast  my  luck;  but  no,  he  was  the  one 
man  I  had  met  who  seemed,  as  he  said,  to  "under- 
stand."   Nevertheless,  he  had  his  toast. 

"Here's  confusion  to  the  criminal  classes  in  gen- 
eral," he  cried;  "but  death  and  damnation  to  the 
owners  of  that  knife  !" 

And  we  clinked  tumblers  across  the  little  oval 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  It  was  more  of  a 
sitting-room  than  mine;  a  bright  lire  was  burning 
in  the  grate,  and  my  companion  insisted  on  my 
sitting  over  it  in  the  arm-chair,  while  for  himself 
he  fetched  the  one  from  his  bedside,  and  drew  up 
the  table  so  that  our  glasses  should  be  handy.  He 
then  produced  a  handsome  cigar-case  admira- 
bly stocked,  and  we  smoked  and  sipped  in  the 
cosiest  fashion,  though  without  exchanging  many 
words. 

You  may  imagine  my  pleasure  in  the  society  of  a 
youth,  equally  charming  in  looks,  manners  and 
address,  who  had  not  one  word  to  say  to  me  about 
the  Lady  Jermyn  or  my  hen-coop.  It  was  unique 
Yet  such,  I  suppose,  was  my  native  contrariety, 
that  I  felt  I  could  have  spoken  of  the  catastrophe 
to  this  very  boy  with  less  reluctance  than  to  any 
other  creature  whom  I  had  encountered  since  my 
deliverance.  He  seemed  so  full  of  silent  sympathy : 
his  consideration  for  my  feelings  was  so  marked 

7Z 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

and  yet  so  unobtrusive.  I  have  called  him  a  boy. 
I  am  apt  to  write  as  the  old  man  I  have  grown, 
though  I  do  believe  I  felt  older  then  than  now. 
In  any  case  my  young  friend  was  some  years  my 
junior.  I  afterwards  found  out  that  he  was  six- 
and-twenty. 

I  have  also  called  him  handsome.  He  was  the 
handsomest  man  that  I  have  ever  met,  had  the 
frankest  face,  the  finest  eyes,  the  brightest  smile. 
Yet  his  bronzed  forehead  was  low,  and  his  mouth 
rather  impudent  and  bold  than  truly  strong.  And 
there  was  a  touch  of  foppery  about  him,  in  the 
enormous  white  tie  and  the  much-cherished  whisk- 
ers of  the  fifties,  which  was  only  redeemed  by  that 
other  touch  of  devilry  that  he  had  shown  me  in  the 
corridor.  By  the  rich  brown  of  his  complexion, 
as  well  as  by  a  certain  sort  of  swagger  In  his  walk, 
I  should  have  said  that  he  was  a  naval  officer 
ashore,  had  he  not  told  me  who  he  was  of  his  own 
accord. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  ought  to  give  you  my 
name.  It's  Rattray,  of  one  of  the  many  KIrby 
Halls  in  this  country.  My  one's  down  in  Lanca- 
shire." 

"I  suppose  there's  no  need  tra  tell  my  name?" 
said  I,  less  sadly,  I  daresay,  than  I  had  ever  yet 
alluded  to  the  tragedy  which  I  alone  survived.    It 

74 


I  Find  a  Friend 

was  an  unnecessary  allusion,  too,  as  a  reference  to 
the  foregoing  conversation  will  show. 

"Well,  no,"  said  he,  In  his  frank  fashion;  "I 
can't  honestly  say  there  is." 

We  took  a  few  puffs,  he  watching  the  fire,  and 
I  his  firellt  face. 

"It  must  seem  strange  to  you  to  be  sitting  with 
the  only  man  who  lived  to  tell  the  tale !" 

•The  egotism  of  this  speech  was  not  wholly 
gratuitous.  I  thought  It  did  seem  strange  to  him : 
that  a  needless  constraint  was  put  upon  him  by 
excessive  consideration  for  my  feelings.  I  desired 
to  set  him  at  his  ease  as  he  had  set  me  at  mine.  On 
the  contrary,  he  seemed  quite  startled  by  my 
remark. 

"It  Is  strange,"  he  said,  with  a  shudder,  followed 
by  the  biggest  sip  of  brandy-and-water  he  had 
taken  yet.  "It  must  have  been  horrible — horri- 
ble 1"  he  added  to  himself,  his  dark  eyes  staring 
into  the  fire. 

"Ah !"  said  I,  "it  was  even  more  horrible  than 
you  suppose  or  can  ever  Imagine." 

I  was  not  thinking  of  myself,  nor  of  my  love, 
nor  of  any  particular  incident  of  the  fire  that  still 
went  on  burning  In  my  brain.  My  tone  was  doubt- 
less confidential,  but  I  was  meditating  no  special 
confidence  when  my  companion  drew  one  with  his 

75 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

next  words.  These,  however,  came  after  a  pause, 
in  which  my  eyes  had  fallen  from  his  face,  but  in 
which  I  heard  him  emptying  his  glass. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  whispered.  "That 
there  were  other  circumstances — things  which 
haven't  got  into  the  papers?" 

"God  knows  there  were,"  I  answered,  my  face 
in  my  hands;  and,  my  grief  brought  home  to  me, 
there  I  sat  with  it  in  the  presence  of  that  stranger, 
without  compunction  and  without  shame. 

He  sprang  up  and  paced  the  room.  His  tact 
made  me  realize  my  weakness,  and  I  was  struggling 
to  overcome  it  when  he  surprised  me  by  suddenly 
stopping  and  laying  a  rather  tremulous  hand  upon 
my  shoulder. 

"You It  wouldn't  do  you  any  good  to 

speak    of   those    circumstances,    I    suppose?"    he 
faltered. 

"No :  not  now :  no  good  at  all." 
"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  resuming  his  walk.     "I 
had  no  business — I  felt  so  sorry — I  cannot  tell  you 
how  I  sympathize !    And  yet — I  wonder  if  you  will 
always  feel  so?" 

"No  saying  how  I  shall  feel  when  I  am  a  man 
again,"  said  I.  "You  see  what  I  am  at  present." 
And,  pulling  myself  together,  I  rose  to  find  my  new 
friend  quite  agitated  in  his  turn. 

76 


I  Find  a  Friend 

"I  wish  we  had  some  more  brandy,"  he  sighed. 
"I'm  afraid  it's  too  late  to  get  any  now." 

"And  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  I.  "A  man  In  my 
state  ought  not  to  look  at  spirits,  or  he  may  never 
look  past  them  again.  Thank  goodness,  there  are 
other  medicines.  Only  this  morning  I  consulted 
the  best  man  on  nerves  in  London.  I  wish  I'd 
gone  to  him  long  ago." 

•"Harley  Street,  was  it?'* 

"Yes." 

"Saw  you  on  his  doorstep,  by  Jove!"  cried  Rat- 
tray at  once.  "I  was  driving  over  to  Hampstead, 
and  I  thought  it  was  you.  Well,  what's  the  pre- 
scription?" 

In  my  satisfaction  at  finding  that  he  had  not  been 
dogging  me  intentionally  (though  I  had  forgotten 
the  incident  till  he  reminded  me  of  it),  I  answered 
his  question  with  unusual  fulness. 

"I  should  go  abroad,"  said  Rattray.  "But  then, 
I  always  am  abroad;  It's  only  the  other  day  I  got 
back  from  South  America,  and  I  shall  up  anchor 
again  before  this  filthy  English  winter  sets  in." 

Was  he  a  sailor  after  all,  or  only  a  well-to-do 
wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  He  now  men- 
tioned that  he  was  only  in  England  for  a  few  weeks, 
to  have  a  look  at  his  estate,  and  so  forth;  after 
which  he  plunged  into  more  or  less  enthusiastic 

77 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

advocacy  of  this  or  that  foreign  resort,  as  opposed 
to  the  Enghsh  cottage  upon  which  I  told  him  I  had 
set  my  heart. 

He  was  now,  however,  less  spontaneous,  I 
thought,  than  earlier  in  the  night.  His  voice  had 
lost  its  hearty  ring,  and  he  seemed  preoccupied, 
as  if  talking  of  one  matter  while  he  thought  upon 
another.  Yet  he  would  not  let  me  go ;  and  presently 
he  confirmed  my  suspicion,  no  less  than  my  first 
Impression  of  his  delightful  frankness  and  cordi- 
ality, by  candidly  telling  me  what  was  on  his  mind. 

"If  you  really  want  a  cottage  in  the  country," 
said  he,  "and  the  most  absolute  peace  and  quiet  to 
be  got  In  this  world,  I  know  of  the  very  thing  on 
my  land  in  Lancashire.  It  would  drive  me  mad  in 
a  week;  but  if  you  really  care  for  that  sort  of 
thing " 

"An  occupied  cottage?"  I  Interrupted. 

"Yes;  a  couple  rent  It  from  me,  very  decent 
people  of  the  name  of  Bralthwalte.  The  man  Is 
out  all  day,  and  won't  bother  you  when  he's  In; 
he's  not  hke  other  people,  poor  chap.  But  the 
woman's  all  there,  and  would  do  her  best  for  you 
in  a  humble,  simple,  wholesome  sort  of  way." 

"You  think  they  would  take  me  In?" 

"They  have  taken  other  men — artists  as  a  rule." 

"Then  it's  a  picturesque  country?" 
78 


I  Find  a  Friend 

"Oh,  it's  that  If  it's  nothing  else;  but  not  a  town 
for  miles,  mind  you,  and  hardly  a  village  worthy 
the  name." 

"Any  fishing?" 

"Yes — trout — small  but  plenty  of  'em — in  a 
beck  running  close  behind  the  cottage." 

"Come,"  cried  I,  "this  sounds  delightful!  Shall 
you  be  up  there?" 

VOnly  for  a  day  or  two,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
shan't  trouble  you,  Mr.  Cole." 

"My  dear  sir,  that  wasn't  my  meaning  at  all. 
I'm  only  sorry  I  shall  not  see  something  of  you 
on  your  own  heath.  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for 
your  kind  suggestion.  When  do  you  suppose  the 
Braithwaites  could  do  with  me?" 

His  charming  smile  rebuked  my  impatience. 

"We  must  first  see  whether  they  can  do  with 
you  at  all,"  said  he.  "I  sincerely  hope  they  can; 
but  this  is  their  time  of  year  for  tourists,  though 
perhaps  a  little  late.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  going  down  there  to- 
morrow, and  I've  got  to  telegraph  to  my  place  in 
any  case  to  tell  them  when  to  meet  me.  I'll  send 
the  telegram  first  thing,  and  I'll  make  them  send 
one  back  to  say  whether  there's  room  in  the  cottage 
or  not." 

I  thanked  him  warmly,  but  asked  if  the  cottage 
79 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

was  close  to  Kirby  Hall,  and  whether  this  would 
not  be  giving  a  deal  of  trouble  at  the  other  end; 
whereupon  he  mischievously  misunderstood  me  a 
second  time,  saying  the  cottage  and  the  hall  were 
not  even  in  sight  of  each  other,  and  I  really  had 
no  intrusion  to  fear,  as  he  was  a  lonely  bachelor 
like  myself,  and  would  only  be  up  there  four  or 
five  days  at  the  most.  So  I  made  my  appreciation 
of  his  society  plainer  than  ever  to  him;  for  indeed 
I  had  found  a  more  refreshing  pleasure  in  it  al- 
ready than  I  had  hoped  to  derive  from  mortal 
man  again;  and  we  parted,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  like  old  fast  friends. 

"Only  don't  expect  too  much,  my  dear  Mr. 
Cole,"  were  his  last  words  to  me.  "My  own  place 
is  as  ancient  and  as  tumble-down  as  most  ruins 
that  you  pay  to  see  over.  And  I'm  never  there 
myself  because — I  tell  you  frankly — I  hate  it  like 
poison!" 


80 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A    SMALL    PRECAUTION 

MY  delight  In  the  society  of  this  young 
Squire  Rattray  (as  I  soon  was  to  hear 
hira  styled)  had  been  such  as  to  make  me  almost 
forget  the  sinister  incident  which  had  brought  us 
together.  When  I  returned  to  my  room,  however, 
there  were  the  open  window  and  the  litter  on  the 
floor  to  remind  me  of  what  had  happened  earlier 
in  the  night.  Yet  I  was  less  disconcerted  than  you 
might  suppose.  A  common  housebreaker  can 
have  few  terrors  for  one  who  has  braved  those 
of  mid-ocean  single-handed;  my  would-be  visitor 
had  no  longer  any  for  me;  for  it  had  not  yet  oc- 
curred to  me  to  connect  him  with  the  voices  and 
the  footsteps  to  which,  indeed,  I  had  been  unable 
to  swear  before  the  doctor.  On  the  other  hand, 
these  morbid  imaginings  (as  I  was  far  from  un- 
willing to  consider  them)  had  one  and  all  deserted 
me  in  the  sane,  clean  company  of  the  capital  young 
fellow  in  the  next  room. 

I  have  confessed  my  condition  up  to  the  time 
of  this  queer  meeting.    I  have  tried  to  bring  young 

8i 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Rattray  before  you  with  some  hint  of  his  fresh- 
ness and  his  boyish  charm;  and  though  the  sense 
of  failure  is  heavy  upon  me  there,  I  who  knew  the 
man  knew  also  that  I  must  fail  to  do  him  justice. 
Enough  may  have  been  said,  however,  to  impart 
some  faint  idea  of  what  this  youth  was  to  me  in 
the  bitter  and  embittering  anti-climax  of  my  life. 
Conventional  figures  spring  to  my  pen,  but  every 
one  of  them  is  true;  he  was  flowers  in  spring,  he 
was  sunshine  after  rain,  he  was  rain  following 
long  months  of  drought.  I  slept  admirably  after 
all ;  and  I  awoke  to  see  the  overturned  toilet-table, 
and  to  thrill  as  I  remembered  there  was  CMie 
fellow-creature  with  whom  I  could  fraternize  with- 
out fear  of  a  rude  reopening  of  my  every  wound. 

I  hurried  my  dressing  in  the  hope  of  our  break- 
fasting together.  I  knocked  at  the  next  door,  and, 
receiving  no  answer,  even  ventured  to  enter,  with 
the  same  idea.  He  was  not  there.  He  was  not 
in  the  coffee-room.     He  was  not  in  the  hotel. 

I  broke  my  fast  in  disappointed  solitude,  and 
I  hung  about  disconsolate  all  the  morning,  look- 
ing wistfully  for  my  new-made  friend.  Towards 
mid-day  he  drove  up  In  a  cab  which  he  kept  wait- 
ing at  the  curb. 

"It's  all  right!"  he  cried  out  in  his  hearty  way. 
"I  sent  my  telegram  first  thing,  and  I've  had  the 

82 


A  Small  Precaution 

answer  at  my  club.  The  rooms  are  vacant,  and 
I'll  see  that  Jane  Braithwalte  has  all  ready  for  you 
by  to-morrow  night." 

I  thanked  him  from  my  heart.  "You  seem  In 
a  hurry!"  I  added,  as  I  followed  him  up  the  stairs. 

"I  am,"  said  he.  "It's  a  near  thing  for  the 
train.    I've  just  time  to  stick  in  my  things." 

"Then  I'll  stick  in  mine,"  said  I  impulsively, 
"and  I'll  come  with  you,  and  doss  down  In  any 
corner  for  the  night." 

He  stopped  and  turned  on  the  stairs. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  said  he;  "they  won't 
have  anything  ready.  I'm  going  to  make  it  my 
privilege  to  see  that  everything  is  as  cosey  as  pos- 
sible when  you  arrive.  I  simply  can't  allow  you 
to  come  to-day,  Mr.  Cole!"  He  smiled,  but  I 
saw  that  he  was  in  earnest,  and  of  course  I  gave  In. 

"All  right,"  said  I;  "then  I  must  content  my- 
self with  seeing  you  off  at  the  station." 

To  my  surprise  his  smile  faded,  and  a  flush  of 
undisguised  annoyance  made  him,  if  anything, 
better-looking  than  ever.  It  brought  out  a  certain 
strength  of  mouth  and  jaw  which  I  had  not  ob- 
served there  hitherto.  It  gave  him  an  ugliness 
of  expression  which  only  emphasized  his  perfec- 
tion of  feature. 

"You  mustn't  do  that  either,"  said  he,  shortly. 
83 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

*'I  have  an  appointment  at  the  station.  I  shall 
be  talking  business  all  the  time." 

He  was  gone  to  his  room,  and  I  went  to  mine 
feehng  duly  snubbed;  yet  I  deserved  it;  for  I 
had  exhibited  a  characteristic  (though  not  chronic) 
want  of  taste,  of  which  I  am  sometimes  guilty  to 
this  day.  Not  to  show  ill-feeling  on  the  head  of 
it,  I  nevertheless  followed  him  down  again  in 
four  or  five  minutes.  And  I  was  rewarded  by  his 
brightest  smile  as  he  grasped  my  hand. 

"Come  to-morrow  by  the  same  train,"  said  he, 
naming  station,  line,  and  hour;  "unless  I  tele- 
graph, all  will  be  ready  and  you  shall  be  met. 
You  may  rely  on  reasonable  charges.  As  to  the 
fishing,  go  up-stream — to  the  right  when  you  strike 
the  beck — and  you'll  find  a  good  pool  or  two.  I 
may  have  to  go  to  Lancaster  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, but  I  shall  give  you  a  call  when  I  get 
back." 

With  that  we  parted,  as  good  friends  as  ever. 
I  observed  that  my  regret  at  losing  him  was  shared 
by  the  boots,  who  stood  beside  me  on  the  steps 
as  his  hansom  rattled  off. 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Rattray  stays  here  always  when 
he  comes  to  town?"  said  I. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "we've  never  had  him 
before,  not  in  my  time;  but  I  shouldn't  mind  if 

84 


A  Small  Precaution 

he  came  again."  And  he  looked  twice  at  the  coin 
in  his  hand  before  pocketing  it  with  evident  sat- 
isfaction. 

Lonely  as  I  was,  and  wished  to  be,  I  think  that 
I  never  felt  my  loneliness  as  I  did  during  the 
twenty-four  hours  which  intervened  between  Rat- 
tray's departure  and  my  own.  They  dragged  like 
wet  days  by  the  sea,  and  the  effect  was  as  depress- 
ing. .  I  have  seldom  been  at  such  a  loss  for  some- 
thing to  do;  and  in  my  idleness  I  behaved  like 
a  child,  wishing  my  new  friend  back  again,  or 
myself  on  the  railway  with  my  new  friend,  until 
I  blushed  for  the  beanstalk  growth  of  my  regard 
for  him,  an  utter  stranger,  and  a  younger  man. 
I  am  less  ashamed  of  it  now:  he  had  come  into 
my  dark  hfe  like  a  lamp,  and  his  going  left  a  dark- 
ness deeper  than  before. 

In  my  dejection  I  took  a  new  view  of  the  night's 
outrage.  It  was  no  common  burglar's  work,  for 
what  had  I  worth  stealing?  It  was  the  work  of 
my  unseen  enemies,  who  dogged  me  in  the  street; 
they  alone  knew  why;  the  doctor  had  called  these 
hallucinations,  and  I  had  forced  myself  to  agree 
with  the  doctor;  but  I  could  not  deceive  myself 
in  my  present  mood.  I  remembered  the  steps,  the 
steps — the  stopping  when  I  stopped — the  drawing 
away  in  the  crowded  streets — the  closing  up  in 

85 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

quieter  places.  Why  had  I  never  looked  round? 
Why?  Because  till  to-day  I  had  thought  it  mere 
vulgar  curiosity;  because  a  few  had  bored  me,  I 
had  imagined  the  many  at  my  heels;  but  now  I 
knew — I  knew  !  It  was  the  few  again :  a  few  who 
hated  me  even  unto  death. 

The  idea  took  such  a  hold  upon  me  that  I  did 
not  trouble  my  head  with  reasons  and  motives. 
Certain  persons  had  designs  upon  my  life;  that 
was  enough  for  me.  On  the  whole,  the  thought 
was  stimulating;  it  set  a  new  value  on  existence, 
and  it  roused  a  certain  amount  of  spirit  even  in 
me.  I  would  give  the  fellows  another  chance 
before  I  left  town.  They  should  follow  me  once 
more,  and  this  time  to  some  purpose.  Last  night 
they  had  left  a  knife  on  me;  to-night  I  would 
have  a  keepsake  ready  for  them. 

Hitherto  I  had  gone  unarmed  since  my  land- 
ing, which,  perhaps,  was  no  more  than  my  duty 
as  a  civilized  citizen.  On  Black  Hill  Flats,  how- 
ever, I  had  formed  another  habit,  of  which  I 
should  never  have  broken  myself  so  easily,  but 
for  the  fact  that  all  the  firearms  I  ever  had  were 
reddening  and  rotting  at  the  bottom  of  the  At- 
lantic Ocean.  I  now  went  out  and  bought  me  such 
a  one  as  I  had  never  possessed  before. 

The  revolver  was  then  in  its  infancy;  but  it 
86 


A  Small  Precaution 

did  exist;  and  by  dusk  I  was  owner  of  as  fine  a 
specimen  as  could  be  procured  in  the  city  of  Lon- 
don. It  had  but  five  chambers,  but  the  barrel 
was  ten  inches  long;  one  had  to  cap  it,  and  to  put 
in  the  powder  and  the  wadded  bullet  separately; 
but  the  last-named  would  have  killed  an  elephant. 
The  oak  case  that  I  bought  with  it  cumbers  my 
desk  as  I  write,  and,  shut,  you  would  think  that 
it  ha,d  never  contained  anything  more  lethal  than 
fruit-knives.  I  open  it,  and  there  are  the  green- 
baize  compartments,  one  with  a  box  of  percussion 
caps,  still  apparently  full,  another  that  could  not 
contain  many  more  wadded-bullets,  and  a  third 
with  a  powder-horn  which  can  never  have  been 
much  lighter.  Within  the  lid  is  a  label  bearing 
the  makers'  names;  the  gentlemen  themselves  are 
unknown  to  me,  even  if  they  are  still  alive;  never- 
theless, after  five-and-forty  years,  let  me  dip  my 
pen  to  Messrs.  Deane,  Adams  and  Deane ! 

That  night  I  left  this  case  in  my  room,  locked, 
and  the  key  in  my  waistcoat  pocket;  in  the  right- 
hand  side-pocket  of  my  overcoat  I  carried  my 
Deane  and  Adams,  loaded  in  every  chamber;  also 
my  right  hand,  as  innocently  as  you  could  wish. 
And  just  that  night  I  was  not  followed !  I  walked 
across  Regent's  Park,  and  I  dawdled  on  Primrose 
Hill,  without  the  least  result.    Down  I  turned  into 

87 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  Avenue  Road,  and  presently  was  strolling  be- 
tween green  fields  towards  Finchley.  The  moon 
was  up,  but  nicely  shaded  by  a  thin  coating  of 
clouds  which  extended  across  the  sky:  it  was  an 
ideal  night  for  it.  It  was  also  my  last  night  in 
town,  and  I  did  want  to  give  the  beggars  their 
last  chance.  But  they  did  not  even  attempt  to 
avail  themselves  of  it:  never  once  did  they  follow 
me :  my  ears  were  in  too  good  training  to  make 
any  mistake.  And  the  reason  only  dawned  on  me 
as  I  drove  back  disappointed:  they  had  followed 
me  already  to  the  gunsmith's ! 

Convinced  of  this,  I  entertained  but  little  hope 
of  another  midnight  visitor.  Nevertheless,  I  put 
my  light  out  early,  and  sat  a  long  time  peeping 
through  my  blind;  but  only  an  inevitable  Tom, 
with  back  hunched  up  and  tail  erect,  broke  tho 
moonlit  profile  of  the  back-garden  wall;  and  once 
more  that  disreputable  music  (which  none  the  less 
had  saved  my  life)  was  the  only  near  sound  all 
night. 

I  felt  very  reluctant  to  pack  Deane  and  Adams 
away  in  his  case  next  morning,  and  the  case  in 
my  portmanteau,  where  I  could  not  get  at  it  in 
case  my  unknown  friends  took  it  into  their  heads 
to  accompany  me  out  of  town.  In  the  hope  that 
they  would,  I  kept  him  loaded,  and  in  the  same 

88 


A  Small  Precaution 

overcoat  pocket,  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when, 
being  very  near  my  northern  destination,  and 
having  the  compartment  to  myself,  I  locked  the 
toy  away  with  considerable  remorse  for  the  price 
I  had  paid  for  it.  All  down  the  line  I  had  kept 
an  eye  for  suspicious  characters  with  an  eye  upon 
me;  but  even  my  self-consciousness  failed  to  dis- 
cover one;  and  I  reached  my  haven  of  peace,  and 
of  fresh  fell  air,  feeling,  I  suppose,  much  like  any 
other  fool  who  has  spent  his  money  upon  a  white 
elephant. 


89 


CHAPTER    IX 

MY    CONVALESCENT    HOME 

THE  man  Braithwalte  met  me  at  the  station 
with  a  spring  cart.  The  very  porters 
seemed  to  expect  me,  and  my  luggage  was  in  the 
cart  before  I  had  given  up  my  ticket.  Nor  had 
we  started  when  I  first  noticed  that  Braithwaite 
did  not  speak  when  I  spoke  to  him.  On  the  way, 
however,  a  more  flagrant  instance  recalled  young 
Rattray's  remark,  that  the  man  was  "not  like 
other  people."  I  had  imagined  it  to  refer  to  a 
mental,  not  a  physical,  defect;  whereas  it  was  clear 
to  me  now  that  my  prospective  landlord  was  stone- 
deaf,  and  I  presently  discovered  him  to  be  dumb 
as  well.  Thereafter  I  studied  him  with  some  at- 
tention during  our  drive  of  four  or  five  miles.  I 
called  to  mind  the  theory  that  an  innate  physical 
deficiency  is  seldom  without  its  moral  counterpart, 
and  I  wondered  how  far  this  would  apply  to  the 
deaf-mute  at  my  side,  who  was  ill-grown,  wizened, 
and  puny  into  the  bargain.  The  brow-beaten  face 
of  him  was  certainly  forbidding,  and  he  thrashed 
his  horse  up   the  hills   in  a   dogged,   vindictive, 

90 


My  Convalescent  Home 

thorough-going  way  which  at  length  made  me 
jump  out  and  climb  one  of  them  on  foot.  It  was 
the  only  form  of  protest  that  occurred  to  me. 

The  evening  was  damp  and  thiclc.  It  melted, 
into  night  as  we  drove.  I  could  form  no  impres- 
sion of  the  country,  but  this  seemed  desolate 
enough.  I  believe  we  met  no  living  soul  on  the 
high  road  which  we  followed  for  the  first  three 
miles  or  more.  At  length  we  turned  into  a  nar- 
row lane,  with  a  stiff  stone  wall  on  either  hand, 
and  this  eventually  led  us  past  the  lights  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  large  farm;  it  was  really  a  small 
hamlet;  and  now  we  were  nearing  our  destination. 
Gates  had  to  be  opened,  and  my  poor  driver 
breathed  hard  from  the  continual  getting  down 
and  up.  In  the  end  a  long  and  heavy  cart-track 
brought  us  to  the  loneliest  light  that  I  have  ever 
seen.  It  shone  on  the  side  of  a  hill — in  the  heart 
of  an  open  wilderness — as  solitary  as  a  beacon- 
light  at  sea.  It  was  the  light  of  the  cottage  which 
was  to  be  my  temporary  home. 

A  very  tall,  gaunt  woman  stood  in  the  door- 
way against  the  inner  glow.  She  advanced  with 
a  loose,  long  stride,  and  invited  me  to  enter  in  a 
voice  harsh  (I  took  it)  from  disuse.  I  was  warm- 
ing myself  before  the  kitchen  fire  when  she  came 
in  carrying  my  heaviest  box  as  though  it  had  noth- 

91 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

ing  in  it.  I  ran  to  take  it  from  her,  for  the  box 
was  full  of  books,  but  she  shook  her  head,  and 
was  on  the  stairs  with  it  before  I  could  inter- 
cept her. 

I  conceive  that  very  few  men  are  attracted  by 
abnormal  strength  in  a  woman;  we  cannot  help 
it;  and  yet  it  was  not  her  strength  which  first  re- 
pelled me  in  Mrs.  Braithwaite.  It  was  a  combi- 
nation of  attributes.  She  had  a  poll  of  very  dirty 
and  untidy  red  hair;  her  eyes  were  set  close  to- 
gether; she  had  the  jowl  of  the  traditional  prize- 
fighter. But  far  more  disagreeable  than  any 
single  feature  was  the  woman's  expression,  or 
rather  the  expression  which  I  caught  her  assum- 
ing naturally,  and  banishing  with  an  effort  for  my 
benefit.  To  me  she  was  strenuously  civil  in  her 
uncouth  way.  But  I  saw  her  give  her  husband 
one  look,  as  he  staggered  in  with  my  compara- 
tively light  portmanteau,  which  she  instantly 
snatched  out  of  his  feeble  arms.  I  saw  this  look 
again  before  the  evening  was  out,  and  it  was  such 
a  one  as  Braithwaite  himself  had  fixed  upon  his 
horse  as  he  flogged  it  up  the  hills. 

I  began  to  wonder  how  the  young  squire  had 
found  it  in  his  conscience  to  recommend  such  a 
pair.  I  wondered  less  when  the  woman  finally 
ushered  me  upstairs  to  my  rooms.     These  were 

92 


My  Convalescent  Home 

small  and  rugged,  but  eminently  snug  and  clean. 
In  each  a  good  fire  blazed  cheerfully;  my  port- 
manteau was  already  unstrapped,  the  table  in  the 
sitting-room  already  laid;  and  I  could  not  help 
looking  twice  at  the  silver  and  the  glass,  so  bright 
was  their  condition,  so  good  their  quality.  Mrs. 
Braithwaite  watched  me  from  the  door. 

"I  doubt  you'll  be  thinking  them's  our  own," 
said  she.  "I  wish  they  were ;  t'squire  sent  'em  in 
this  afternoon." 

"For  my  use?" 

"Ay;  I  doubt  he  thought  what  we  had  ourselves 
wasn't  good  enough.  An'  it's  him  'at  sent  t'arm- 
chair,  t'bed-linen,  t'bath,  an'  that  there  lookin'- 
glass  an'  all." 

She  had  followed  me  into  the  bedroom,  where 
I  looked  with  redoubled  interest  at  each  object 
as  she  mentioned  it,  and  it  was  in  the  glass — a 
masqueline  shaving-glass — that  I  caught  my  sec- 
ond glimpse  of  my  landlady's  evil  expression — 
levelled  this  time  at  myself. 

I  instantly  turned  round  and  told  her  that  I 
thought  it  very  kind  of  Mr.  Rattray,  but  that,  for 
my  part,  I  was  not  a  luxurious  man,  and  that  I 
felt  rather  sorry  the  matter  had  not  been  left  en- 
tirely in  her  hands.  She  retired  seemingly  mol- 
lified, and  she  took  my  sympathy  with  her,  though 

93 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  was  none  the  less  pleased  and  cheered  by  my  new 
friend's  zeal  for  my  comfort;  there  were  even 
flowers  on  my  table,  without  a  doubt  from  Kirby 
Hall. 

And  in  another  matter  the  squire  had  not  misled 
me:  the  woman  was  an  excellent  plain  cook.  I 
expected  ham  and  eggs.  Sure  enough,  this  was 
my  dish,  but  done  to  a  turn.  The  eggs  were  new 
and  all  unbroken,  the  ham  so  lean  and  yet  so 
tender,  that  I  would  not  have  exchanged  my  hum- 
ble, hearty  meal  for  the  best  dinner  served  that 
night  in  London.  It  made  a  new  man  of  me,  after 
my  long  journey  and  my  cold,  damp  drive.  I 
was  for  chatting  with  Mrs.  Bralthwalte  when  she 
came  up  to  clear  away.  I  thought  she  might  be 
glad  to  talk  after  the  life  she  must  lead  with  her 
afflicted  husband,  but  it  seemed  to  have  had  the 
opposite  effect  on  her.  All  I  elicited  was  an  am- 
biguous statement  as  to  the  distance  between  the 
cottage  and  the  hall;  it  was  "not  so  far."  And 
so  she  left  me  to  my  pipe  and  to  my  best  night 
yet,  in  the  stillest  spot  I  have  ever  slept  In  on  dry 
land;  one  heard  nothing  but  the  bubble  of  a  beck; 
and  it  seemed  very,  very  far  away. 

A  fine,  bright  morning  showed  me  my  new 
surroundings  in  their  true  colors;  even  In  the  sun- 
shine these  were  not  very  gay.     But  gayety  was 

94 


My  Convalescent  Home 

the  last  thing  I  wanted.  Peace  and  quiet  were 
my  whole  desire,  and  both  were  here,  set  in  scenery 
at  once  lovely  to  the  eye  and  bracing  to  the  soul. 

From  the  cottage  doorstep  one  looked  upon  a 
perfect  panorama  of  healthy,  open  English  coun- 
try. Purple  hills  hemmed  in  a  broad,  green,  un- 
dulating plateau,  scored  across  and  across  by  the 
stone  walls  of  the  north,  and  all  dappled  with  the 
shadows  of  rolling  leaden  clouds  with  silver 
fringes.  Miles  away  a  church  spire  stuck  like  a 
spike  out  of  the  hollow,  and  the  smoke  of  a  vil- 
lage dimmed  the  trees  behind.  No  nearer  habita- 
tion could  I  see.  I  have  mentioned  a  hamlet  which 
we  passed  in  the  spring-cart.  It  lay  hidden  be- 
hind some  hillocks  to  the  left.  My  landlady  told 
me  it  was  better  than  half  a  mile  away,  and  "noth- 
ing when  you  get  there;  no  shop;  no  post-office; 
not  even  a  public-house." 

I  inquired  in  which  direction  lay  the  hall.  She 
pointed  to  the  nearest  trees,  a  small  forest  of 
stunted  oaks,  which  shut  in  the  view  to  the  right, 
after  quarter  of  a  mile  of  a  bare  and  rugged  valley. 
Through  this  valley  twisted  the  beck  which  I  had 
heard  faintly  in  the  night.  It  ran  through  the 
oak  plantation  and  so  to  the  sea,  some  two  or 
three  miles  further  on,  said  my  landlady;  but  no- 
body would  have  thought  it  was  so  near. 

95 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"T'squire  was  to  be  away  to-day,"  observed  the 
woman,  with  the  broad  vowel  sound  which  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  reproduce  in  print.  "He  was  going 
to  Lancaster,  I  believe." 

"So  I  understood,"  said  I.  "I  didn't  think 
of  troubling  him,  if  that's  what  you  mean. 
I'm  going  to  take  his  advice  and  fish  the 
beck." 

And  I  proceeded  to  do  so  after  a  hearty  early 
dinner:  the  keen,  chill  air  was  doing  me  good 
already:  the  "perfect  quiet"  was  finding  its  way 
into  my  soul.  I  blessed  my  specialist,  I  blessed 
Squire  Rattray,  I  blessed  the  very  villains  who 
had  brought  us  within  each  other's  ken;  and  no- 
where was  my  thanksgiving  more  fervent  than  in 
the  deep  cleft  threaded  by  the  beck;  for  here  the 
shrewd  yet  gentle  wind  passed  completely  over- 
head, and  the  silence  was  purged  of  oppression  by 
the  ceaseless  symphony  of  clear  water  running 
over  clean  stones. 

But  it  was  no  day  for  fishing,  and  no  place  for 
the  fly,  though  I  went  through  the  form  of  throw- 
ing one  for  several  hours.  Here  the  stream  merely 
rinsed  its  bed,  there  it  stood  so  still,  in  pools  of 
liquid  amber,  that,  when  the  sun  shone,  the  very 
pebbles  showed  their  shadows  in  the  deepest 
places.     Of  course  I  caught  nothing;  but,  towards 

96 


My  Convalescent  Home 

the  close  of  the  gold-brown  afternoon,  I  made  yet 
another  new  acquaintance,  in  the  person  of  a  little 
old  clergyman  who  attacked  me  pleasantly  from 
the  rear. 

"Bad  day  for  fishing,  sir,"  croaked  the  cheery 
voice  which  first  informed  me  of  his  presence. 
"Ah,  I  knew  it  must  be  a  stranger,"  he  cried  as 
I  turned  and  he  hopped  down  to  my  side  with  the 
activity  of  a  much  younger  man. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  only  came  down  from  London 
yesterday.  I  find  the  spot  so  delightful  that  I 
haven't  bothered  much  about  the  sport.  Still,  I've 
had  about  enough  of  it  now."  And  I  prepared  to 
take  my  rod  to  pieces. 

"Spot  and  sport!"  laughed  the  old  gentleman. 
"Didn't  mean  it  for  a  pun,  I  hope?  Never  could 
endure  puns !  So  you  came  down  yesterday,  young 
gentleman,  did  you?  And  where  may  you  be 
staying?" 

I  described  the  position  of  my  cottage  without 
the  slightest  hesitation;  for  this  parson  did  not 
scare  me;  except  in  appearance  he  had  so  little  in 
common  with  his  type  as  I  knew  it.  He  had, 
however,  about  the  shrewdest  pair  of  eyes  that  I 
have  ever  seen,  and  my  answer  only  served  to 
intensify  their  open  scrutiny. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  come  to  hear  of  a  God- 
97 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

forsaken  place  like  this?"  said  he,  making  use, 
I  thought,  of  a  somewhat  stronger  expression  than 
quite  became  his  cloth. 

"Squire  Rattray  told  me  of  it,"  said  I, 

"Ha!  So  you're  a  friend  of  his,  are  you?" 
And  his  eyes  went  through  and  through  me,  like 
knitting-needles  through  a  ball  of  wool. 

"I  could  hardly  call  myself  that,"  said  I.  "But 
Mr.  Rattray  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"Meet  him  in  town?" 

I  said  I  had,  but  I  said  it  with  some  coolness, 
for  his  tone  had  dropped  into  the  confidential,  and 
I  disliked  it  as  much  as  this  string  of  questions 
from  a  stranger. 

"Long  ago,  sir?"  he  pursued. 

"No,  sir;  not  long  ago,"  I  retorted. 

"May  I  ask  your  name?"  said  he. 

"You  may  ask  what  you  like,"  I  cried,  with 
a  final  reversal  of  all  my  first  impressions  of  this 
Impertinent  old  fellow;  "but  I'm  hanged  If  I  tell 
it  you !  I  am  here  for  rest  and  quiet,  sir.  I  don't 
ask  you  your  name.  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see 
what  right  you  have  to  ask  me  mine,  or  to  ques- 
tion me  at  all,  for  that  matter." 

He  favored  me  with  a  brief  glance  of  extraor- 
dinary suspicion.  It  faded  away  in  mere  surprise, 
and,  next  instant,  my  elderly  and  reverend  friend 

98 


My  Convalescent  Home 

was  causing  me  some  compunction  by  coloring  like 
a  boy. 

"You  may  think  my  curiosity  mere  imperti- 
nence, sir,"  said  he;  "you  would  think  otherwise 
if  you  knew  as  much  as  I  do  of  Squire  Rattray's 
friends,  and  how  little  you  resemble  the  generality 
of  them.  You  might  even  feel  some  sympathy 
for  one  of  the  neighboring  clergy,  to  whom  this 
godless  young  man  has  been  for  years  as  a  thorn 
in  their  side." 

He  spoke  so  gravely,  and  what  he  said  was  so 
easy  to  believe,  that  I  could  not  but  apologize  for 
my  hasty  words. 

"Don't  name  it,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman;  "you 
had  a  perfect  right  to  resent  my  questions,  and  I 
enjoy  meeting  young  men  of  spirit;  but  not  when 
it's  an  evil  spirit,  such  as,  I  fear,  possesses  your 
friend!  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  that  the  best  thing 
I  have  heard  of  him  for  years  is  the  very  little 
that  you  have  told  me.  As  a  rule,  to  hear  of  him 
at  all  in  this  part  of  the  world,  is  to  wish  that 
we  had  not  heard.  I  see  him  coming,  however, 
and  shall  detain  you  no  longer,  for  I  don't  deny 
that  there  is  no  love  lost  between  us." 

I  looked  round,  and  there  was  Rattray  on  the 
top  of  the  bank,  a  long  way  to  the  left,  coming 
towards   me   with   a   waving   hat.      An   extraor- 

99 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

dinary  ejaculation  brought  me  to  the  right-about 
next  instant. 

The  old  clergyman  had  slipped  on  a  stone  in 
mid-stream,  and,  as  he  dragged  a  dripping  leg 
up  the  opposite  bank,  he  had  sworn  an  oath 
worthy  of  the  "godless  young  man"  who  had  put 
him  to  flight,  and  on  whose  demerits  he  had  des- 
canted with  so  much  eloquence  and  indignation. 


loo 


CHAPTER    X 

WINE   AND   WEAKNESS 

"O  PORTING  old  parson  who  knows  how  to 

O  swear?"  laughed  Rattray.  "Never  saw 
him.  In  my  life  before;  wondered  who  the  deuce 
he  was." 

"Really?"  said  I.  "He  professed  to  know 
something  of  you." 

"Against  me,  you  mean?  My  dear  Cole,  don't 
trouble  to  perjure  yourself.  I  don't  mind,  believe 
me.  They're  easily  shocked,  these  country  clergy, 
and  no  doubt  I'm  a  bugbear  to  'em.  Yet,  I  could 
have  sworn  I'd  never  seen  this  one  before.  Let's 
have  another  look." 

We  were  walking  away  together.  We  turned 
on  the  top  of  the  bank.  And  there  the  old  clergy- 
man was  planted  on  the  moorside,  and  watching 
us  Intently  from  under  his  hollowed  hands. 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!"  exclaimed  Rattray,  as 
the  hands  fell  and  their  owner  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 
My  companion  said  no  more;  indeed,  for  some 
minutes  we  pursued  our  way  in  silence.  And  I 
thought  that  It  was  with  an  effort  that  he  broke 

lOI 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Into  sudden  Inquiries  concerning  my  journey  and 
my  comfort  at  the  cottage. 

This  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  thanking  him 
for  his  little  attentions.  "It  was  awfully  good  of 
you,"  said  I,  taking  his  arm  as  though  I  had 
known  him  all  my  life;  nor  do  I  think  there  was 
another  living  man  with  whom  I  would  have 
linked  arms  at  that  time. 

"Good?"  cried  he.  "Nonsense,  my  dear  sir! 
I'm  only  afraid  you  find  It  devilish  rough.  But, 
at  all  events,  you're  coming  to  dine  with  me  to- 
night." 

"Am  I?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

"Rather!"  said  he.  "My  time  here  Is  short 
enough.  I  don't  lose  sight  of  you  again  between 
this  and  midnight." 

"It's  most  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  I  again. 

"Walt  till  you  see!  You'll  find  It  rough 
enough  at  my  place;  all  my  retainers  are  out  for 
the  day  at  a  local  show." 

"Then  I  certainly  shall  not  give  you  the 
trouble " 

He  Interrupted  me  with  his  jovial  laugh. 

"My  good  fellow,"  he  cried,  "that's  the  fun 
of  It !  How  do  you  suppose  I've  been  spending 
the  day?  Told  you  I  was  going  to  Lancaster, 
did  I?     Well,  I've  been  cooking  our  dinner  In- 

102 


Wine  and  Weakness 

stead — laying  the  table — getting  up  the  wines — 
never  had  such  a  joke!  Give  you  my  word,  I 
almost  forgot  I  was  in  the  wilderness!" 
"So  you're  quite  alone,  are  you?" 
"Yes;  as  much  so  as  that  other  beggar  who 
was  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed,  his  right  there 
was  none  to  dispute,  from  the  what-is-it  down  to 

the  glade " 

'.'I'll  come,"  said  I,  as  we  reached  the  cottage. 
"Only  first  you  must  let  me  make  myself  decent." 
"You're  decent  enough!" 

"My  boots  are  wet ;  my  hands " 

"All  serene !  I'll  give  you  five  minutes." 
And  I  left  him  outside,  flourishing  a  handsome 
watch,  while,  on  my  way  upstairs,  I  paused  to  tell 
Mrs.  Braithwaite  that  I  was  dining  at  the  hall. 
She  was  busy  cooking,  and  I  felt  prepared  for 
her  unpleasant  expression;  but  she  showed  no 
annoyance  at  my  news.  I  formed  the  impression 
that  it  was  no  news  to  her.  And  next  minute  I 
heard  a  whispering  below ;  it  was  unmistakable  in 
that  silent  cottage,  where  not  a  word  had  reached 
me  yet,  save  in  conversation  to  which  I  was  my- 
self a  party. 

I  looked  out  of  window.  Rattray  I  could  no 
longer  see.  And  I  confess  that  I  felt  both  puz- 
zled and  annoyed  until  we  walked  away  together, 

103 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

when  it  was  his  arm  which  was  immediately  thrust 
through  mine. 

"A  good  soul,  Jane,"  said  he;  "though  she 
made  an  idiotic  marriage,  and  leads  a  life  which 
might  spoil  the  temper  of  an  archangel.  She  was 
my  nurse  when  I  was  a  youngster,  Cole,  and  we 
never  meet  without  a  yarn."  Which  seemed  natu- 
ral enough ;  still  I  failed  to  perceive  why  they  need 
yarn  in  whispers. 

Kirby  Hall  proved  startlingly  near  at  hand. 
We  descended  the  bare  valley  to  the  right,  we 
crossed  the  beck  upon  a  plank,  were  in  the  oak- 
plantation  about  a  minute,  and  there  was  the  hall 
upon  the  farther  side. 

And  a  queer  old  place  it  seemed,  half  farm, 
half  feudal  castle:  fowls  strutting  at  large  about 
the  back  premises  (which  we  were  compelled  to 
skirt) ,  and  then  a  front  door  of  ponderous  oak, 
deep-set  between  walls  fully  six  feet  thick,  and 
studded  all  over  with  wooden  pegs.  The  fagade, 
indeed,  was  wholly  grim,  with  a  castellated  tower 
at  one  end,  and  a  number  of  narrow,  sunken  win- 
dows looking  askance  on  the  wreck  and  ruin  of 
a  once  prim,  old-fashioned,  high-walled  garden. 
I  thought  that  Rattray  might  have  shown  more 
respect  for  the  house  of  his  ancestors.  It  put  me 
in  mind  of  a  neglected  grave.     And  yet  I  could 

104 


Wine  and  Weakness 

forgive  a  bright  young  fellow  for  never  coming 
near  so  desolate  a  domain. 

We  dined  delightfully  in  a  large  and  lofty  hall, 
formerly  used  (said  Rattray)  as  a  court-room. 
The  old  judgment  seat  stood  back  against  the 
wall,  and  our  table  was  the  one  at  which  the  jus- 
tices had  been  wont  to  sit.  Then  the  chamber 
had  been  low-ceiled;  now  it  ran  to  the  roof,  and 
we -ate  our  dinner  beneath  a  square  of  fading 
autumn  sky,  with  I  wondered  how  many  ghosts 
looking  down  on  us  from  the  oaken  gallery!  I 
was  interested,  impressed,  awed  not  a  little,  and 
yet  all  in  a  way  which  afforded  my  mind  the  most 
welcome  distraction  from  itself  and  from  the  past. 
To  Rattray,  on  the  other  hand,  It  was  rather 
sadly  plain  that  the  place  was  both  a  burden  and 
a  bore;  in  fact  he  vowed  it  was  the  dampest  and 
the  dullest  old  ruin  under  the  sun,  and  that  he 
would  sell  it  to-morrow  if  he  could  find  a  lunatic 
to  buy.  His  want  of  sentiment  struck  me  as  his 
one  deplorable  trait.  Yet  even  this  displayed  his 
characteristic  merit  of  frankness.  Nor  was  it  at 
all  unpleasant  to  hear  his  merry,  boyish  laughter 
ringing  round  hall  and  gallery,  ere  it  died  away 
against  a  dozen  closed  doors. 

And  there  were  other  elements  of  good  cheer: 
a  log  fire  blazing  heartily  in  the  old  dog-grate, 

105 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

casting  a  glow  over  the  stone  flags,  a  reassuring 
flicker  into  the  darkest  corner:  cold  viands  of  the 
very  best :  and  the  finest  old  Madeira  that  has  ever 
passed  my  lips. 

"Now,  all  my  life  I  have  been  a  "moderate 
drinker"  in  the  most  literal  sense  of  that  slightly 
elastic  term.  But  at  the  sad  time  of  which  I  am 
trying  to  write,  I  was  almost  an  abstainer,  from 
the  fear,  the  temptation — of  seeking  oblivion  in 
strong  waters.  To  give  way  then  was  to  go  on 
giving  way.  I  realized  the  danger,  and  I  took 
stern  measures.  Not  stern  enough,  however;  for 
what  I  did  not  realize  was  my  weak  and  nervous 
state,  in  which  a  glass  would  have  the  same  effect 
on  me  as  three  or  four  upon  a  healthy  man. 

Heaven  knows  how  much  or  how  little  I  took 
that  evening !  I  can  swear  it  was  the  smaller  half 
of  either  bottle — and  the  second  we  never  fin- 
ished— but  the  amount  matters  nothing.  Even 
me  it  did  not  make  grossly  tipsy.  But  it  warmed 
my  blood,  it  cheered  my  heart,  it  excited  my  brain, 
and —  it  loosened  my  tongue.  .It  set  me  talking 
with  a  freedom  of  which  I  should  have  been  inca- 
pable in  my  normal  moments,  on  a  subject 
whereof  I  had  never  before  spoken  of  my  own 
free  will. 

And  yet  the  will  to  speak — to  my  present  com- 
io6 


Wine  and  Weakness 

panion — ^was  no  novelty.  I  had  felt  it  at  our  first 
meeting  in  the  private  hotel.  His  tact,  his  sym- 
pathy, his  handsome  face,  his  personal  charm, 
his  frank  friendliness,  had  one  and  all  tempted 
me  to  bore  this  complete  stranger  with  unsolicited 
confidences  for  which  an  inquisitive  relative  might 
have  angled  in  vain.  And  the  temptation  was  the 
stronger  because  I  loiew  in  my  heart  that  I  should 
not  bore  the  young  squire  at  all;  that  he  was  anx- 
ious enough  to  hear  my  story  from  my  own  lips, 
but  too  good  a  gentleman  intentionally  to  betray 
such  anxiety.  Vanity  was  also  in  the  impulse.  A 
vulgar  newspaper  prominence  had  been  my  final 
(and  very  genuine  ) tribulation ;  but  to  please  and 
to  interest  one  so  pleasing  and  so  interesting  to 
me,  was  another  and  a  subtler  thing.  And  then 
there  was  his  sympathy — shall  I  add  his  admi- 
ration ? — for  my  reward. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  I  argued  thus  deliberately 
in  my  heated  and  excited  brain.  I  merely  hold 
that  all  these  small  reasons  and  motives  were 
there,  fused  and  exaggerated  by  the  liquor  which 
was  there  as  well.  Nor  can  I  say  positively  that 
Rattray  put  no  leading  questions;  only  that  I  re- 
member none  which  had  that  sound;  and  that, 
once  started,  I  am  afraid  I  needed  only  too  little 
encouragement  to  run  on  and  on. 

107 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Well,  I  was  set  going  before  we  got  up  from 
the  table.  I  continued  in  an  armchair  that  my 
host  dragged  from  a  little  book-lined  room  ad- 
joining the  hall.  I  finished  on  my  legs,  my  back 
to  the  fire,  my  hands  beating  wildly  together.  I 
had  told  my  dear  Rattray  of  my  own  accord  more 
than  living  man  had  extracted  from  me  yet.  He 
interrupted  me  very  little ;  never  once  until  I  came 
to  the  murderous  attack  by  Santos  on  the  drunken 
steward. 

"The  brute!"  cried  Rattray.  "The  cowardly, 
cruel,  foreign  devil!  And  you  never  let  out  one 
word  of  that!" 

"What  was  the  good?"  said  I.  "They  are  all 
gone  now — all  gone  to  their  account.  Every  man 
of  us  was  a  brute  at  the  last.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  telling  the  public  that." 

He  let  me  go  on  until  I  came  to  another  point 
which  I  had  hitherto  kept  to  myself :  the  condition 
of  the  dead  mate's  fingers :  the  cries  that  the  sight 
of  them  had  recalled. 

"That  Portuguese  villain  again!"  cried  my 
companion,  fairly  leaping  from  the  chair  which 
I  had  left  and  he  had  taken.  "It  was  the  work 
of  the  same  cane  that  killed  the  steward.  Don't 
tell  me  an  Englishman  would  have  done  it;  and 
yet  you  said  nothing  about  that  either!" 

1 08 


Wine  and  Weakness 

It  was  my  first  glimpse  of  this  side  of  my  young 
host's  character.  Nor  did  I  admire  him  the  less, 
in  his  spirited  indignation,  because  much  of  this 
was  clearly  against  myself.  His  eyes  flashed. 
His  face  was  w^hite.  I  suddenly  found  myself 
the  cooler  man  of  the  two. 

"My  dear  fellow,  do  consider!"  said  I.  "What 
possible  end  could  have  been  served  by  my  stat- 
ing what  I  couldn't  prove  against  a  man  who 
could  never  be  brought  to  book  in  this  world? 
Santos  was  punished  as  he  deserved;  his  punish- 
ment was  death,  and  there's  an  end  on't." 

"You  might  be  right,"  said  Rattray,  "but  it 
makes  my  blood  boil  to  hear  such  a  story.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  spoken  strongly;"  and  he  paced 
his  hall  for  a  little  in  an  agitation  which  made  me 
like  him  better  and  better.  "The  cold-blooded 
villain!"  he  kept  muttering;  "the  infernal,  for- 
eign, blood-thirsty  rascal !  Perhaps  you  were 
right;  it  couldn't  have  done  any  good,  I  know; 
but — I  only  wish  he'd  lived  for  us  to  hang  him. 
Cole!  Why,  a  beast  like  that  is  capable  of  any- 
thing: I  wonder  if  you've  told  me  the  worst  even 
now?"  And  he  stood  before  me,  with  candid 
suspicion  in  his  fine,  frank  eyes. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  said  I,  rather 
nettled. 

109 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"I  shan't  tell  you  If  it's  going  to  rile  you,  old 
fellow,"  was  his  reply.  And  with  it  reappeared 
the  charming  youth  whom  I  found  it  impossible 
to  resist.  "Heaven  knows  you  have  had  enough 
to  worry  you !"  he  added,  in  his  kindly,  sympa- 
thetic voice. 

"So  much,"  said  I,  "that  you  cannot  add  to  It, 
my  dear  Rattray.  Now,  then!  Why  do  you 
think  there  was  something  worse?" 

"You  hinted  as  much  in  town:  rightly  or 
wrongly  I  gathered  there  was  something  you 
would  never  speak  about  to  living  man." 

I  turned  from  him  with  a  groan. 

"Ah !  but  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Santos." 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  cried. 

"No,"  I  murmured;  "it  had  something  to  do 
with  him,  in  a  sense;  but  don't  ask  me  any  more." 
And  I  leaned  my  forehead  on  the  high  oak  mantel- 
piece, and  groaned  again. 

His  hand  was  upon  my  shoulder. 

"Do  tell  me,"  he  urged.  I  was  silent.  He 
pressed  me  further.  In  my  fancy,  both  hand  and 
voice  shook  with  his  sympathy. 

"He  had  a  step-daughter,"  said  I  at  last. 

"Yes?     Yes?" 

"I  loved  her.     That  was  all." 
no 


Wine  and  Weakness 

His  hand  dropped  from  my  shoulder.  I  re- 
mained standing,  stooping,  thinking  only  of  her 
whom  I  had  lost  for  ever.  The  silence  was  in- 
tense. I  could  hear  the  wind  sighing  in  the  oaks 
without,  the  logs  burning  softly  away  at  my  feet. 
And  so  we  stood  until  the  voice  of  Rattray  re- 
called me  from  the  deck  of  the  Lady  Jermyn 
and  my  lost  love's  side. 

"So  that  was  all !" 

I  turned  and  met  a  face  I  could  not  read. 

"Was  it  not  enough?"  cried  I.  "What  more 
would  you  have?" 

"I  expected  some  more — foul  play!" 

"Ahl"  I  exclaimed  bitterly.  "So  that  was  all 
that  interested  you !  No,  there  was  no  more  foul 
play  that  I  know  of;  and  if  there  was,  I  don't 
care.  Nothing  matters  to  me  but  one  thing. 
Now  that  you  know  what  that  is,  I  hope  you're 
satisfied." 

It  was  no  way  to  speak  to  one's  host.  Yet  I 
felt  that  he  had  pressed  me  unduly.  I  hated  my- 
self for  my  final  confidence,  and  his  want  of  sym- 
pathy made  me  hate  him  too.  In  my  weakness, 
however,  I  was  the  natural  prey  of  violent  ex- 
tremes. His  hand  flew  out  to  me.  He  was  about 
to  speak.  A  moment  more  and  I  had  doubtless 
forgiven  him.     But  another  sound  came  instead, 

III 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

and  made  the  pair  of  us  start  and  stare.  It  was 
the  soft  shutting  of  some  upstairs  door. 

"I  thought  we  had  the  house  to  ourselves?" 
cried  I,  my  miserable  nerves  on  edge  in  an  instant. 

"So  did  I,"  he  answered,  very  pale.  "My  ser- 
vants must  have  come  back.  By  the  Lord  Harry, 
they  shall  hear  of  this !" 

He  sprang  to  a  door,  I  heard  his  feet  clatter- 
ing up  some  stone  stairs,  and  in  a  trice  he  was 
running  along  the  gallery  overhead;  in  another 
I  heard  him  railing  behind  some  upper  door  that 
he  had  flung  open  and  banged  behind  him;  then 
his  voice  dropped,  and  finally  died  away.  I  was 
left  some  minutes  in  the  oppressively  silent  hall, 
shaken,  startled,  ashamed  of  my  garrulity,  aching 
to  get  away.  When  he  returned  it  was  by  another 
of  the  many  closed  doors,  and  he  found  me  await- 
ing him,  hat  in  hand.  He  was  wearing  his  hap- 
piest look  until  he  saw  my  hat. 

"Not  going?"  he  cried.  "My  dear  Cole,  I 
can't  apologize  sufficiently  for  my  abrupt  deser- 
tion of  you,  much  less  for  the  cause.  It  was  my 
man,  just  come  in  from  the  show,  and  gone  up 
the  back  way.  I  accused  him  of  listening  to  our 
conversation.  Of  course  he  denies  it;  but  It  really 
doesn't  matter,  as  I'm  sorry  to  say  he's  much  too 
'fresh'   (as  they  call  it  down  here)   to  remember 

112 


Wine  and  Weakness 

anything  to-morrow  morning.  I  let  him  have  it, 
I  can  tell  you.  Varlet!  Caitiff!  But  if  you  bolt 
off  on  the  head  of  it,  I  shall  go  back  and  sack  him 
into  the  bargain !" 

I  assured  him  I  had  my  own  reasons  for  wish- 
ing to  retire  early.  He  could  have  no  conception 
of  my  weakness,  my  low  and  nervous  condition 
of  body  and  mind;  much  as  I  had  enjoyed  my- 
self, he  must  really  let  me  go.  Another  glass  of 
wine,  then?  Just  one  more?  No,  I  had  drunk 
too  much  already.  I  was  in  no  state  to  stand  it. 
And  I  held  out  my  hand  with  decision. 

Instead  of  taking  it  he  looked  at  me  very  hard. 

"The  place  doesn't  suit  you,"  said  he.  "I  see 
it  doesn't,  and  I'm  devilish  sorry!  Take  my  ad- 
vice and  try  something  milder;  now  do,  to-mor- 
row; for  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  it  made 
you  worse  instead  of  better;  and  the  air  is  too 
strong  for  lots  of  people." 

I  was  neither  too  ill  nor  too  vexed  to  laugh 
outright  in  his  face. 

"It's  not  the  air,"  said  I;  "it's  that  splendid  old 
Madeira  of  yours,  that  was  too  strong  for  me, 
if  you  like !  No,  no,  Rattray,  you  don't  get  rid 
of  me  so  cheaply — much  as  you  seem  to  want  to !" 

"I  was  only  thinking  of  you,"  he  rejoined,  with 
a  touch  of  pique  that  convinced  me  of  his  sincerity. 

113 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

*'Of  course  I  want  you  to  stop,  though  I  shan't 
be  here  many  days ;  but  I  feel  responsible  for  you, 
Cole,  and  that's  the  fact.  Think  you  can  find 
your  way?"  he  continued,  accompanying  me  to  the 
gate,  a  postern  In  the  high  garden  wall.  "Hadn't 
you  better  have  a  lantern?" 

No ;  It  was  unnecessary.  I  could  see  splendidly, 
had  the  bump  of  locality  and  as  many  more  lies 
as  would  come  to  my  tongue.  I  was  Indeed  burn- 
ing to  be  gone. 

A  moment  later  I  feared  that  I  had  shown  this 
too  plainly.  For  his  final  handshake  was  hearty 
enough  to  send  me  away  something  ashamed  of 
my  precipitancy,  and  with  a  further  sense  of  hav- 
ing shown  him  small  gratitude  for  his  kindly  anx- 
iety on  my  behalf.  I  would  behave  differently  to- 
morrow.    Meanwhile  I  had  new  regrets. 

At  first  It  was  comparatively  easy  to  see,  for  the 
lights  of  the  house  shone  faintly  among  the 
nearer  oaks.  But  the  moon  was  hidden  behind 
heavy  clouds,  and  I  soon  found  myself  at  a  loss 
In  a  terribly  dark  zone  of  timber.  Already  I  had 
left  the  path.  I  felt  In  my  pocket  for  matches.  I 
had  none. 

My  head  was  now  clear  enough,  only  deservedly 
heavy.  I  was  still  quarrelling  with  myself  for  my 
indiscretions  and  my  incivilities,  one  and  all  the 

114 


Wine  and  Weakness 

result  of  his  v/me  and  my  weakness,  and  this  new 
predicament  (another  and  yet  more  vulgar  re- 
sult) was  the  final  mortification.  I  swore  aloud. 
I  simply  could  not  see  a  foot  in  front  of  my  face. 
Once  I  proved  it  by  running  my  head  hard  against 
a  branch.  I  was  hopelessly  and  ridiculously  lost 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  hall ! 

^Some  minutes  I  floundered,  ashamed  to  go 
back,  unable  to  proceed  for  the  trees  and  the  dark- 
ness. I  heard  the  beck  running  over  Its  stones. 
I  could  still  see  an  occasional  glimmer  from  the 
windows  I  had  left.  But  the  light  was  now  on 
this  side,  now  on  that;  the  running  water  chuckled 
in  one  ear  after  the  other;  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  return  in  all  humility  for  the  lantern 
which  I  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  refuse. 

And  as  I  resigned  myself  to  this  imperative 
though  inglorious  course,  my  heart  warmed  once 
more  to  the  jovial  young  squire.  He  would 
laugh,  but  not  unkindly,  at  my  grotesque  dilemma; 
at  the  thought  of  his  laughter  I  began  to  smile 
myself.  If  he  gave  me  another  chance  I  would 
smoke  that  cigar  with  him  before  starting  home 
afresh,  and  remove,  from  my  own  mind  no  less 
than  from  his,  all  ill  impressions.  After  all  it 
was  not  his  fault  that  I  had  taken  too  much  of 
his  wine;  but  a  far  worse  offence  was  to  be  sulky 

115 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

in  one's  cups.  I  would  show  him  that  I  was  my- 
self again  in  all  respects.  I  have  admitted  that 
I  was  temporarily,  at  all  events,  a  creature  of  ex- 
treme moods.  It  was  in  this  one  that  I  retraced 
my  steps  towards  the  lights,  and  at  length  let 
myself  into  the  garden  by  the  postern  at  which  I 
had  shaken  Rattray's  hand  not  ten  minutes  before. 

Taking  heart  of  grace,  I  stepped  up  jauntily  to 
the  porch.  The  weeds  muffled  my  steps.  I  my- 
self had  never  thought  of  doing  so,  when  all  at 
once  I  halted  in  a  vague  terror.  Through  the 
deep  lattice  windows  I  had  seen  into  the  lighted 
hall.  And  Rattray  was  once  more  seated  at  his 
table,  a  little  company  of  men  around  him. 

I  crept  nearer,  and  my  heart  stopped.  Was  I 
delirious,  or  raving  mad  with  wine?  Or  had  the 
sea  given  up  its  dead? 


ii6 


CHAPTER    XI 

I     LIVE     AGAIN 

SQUIRE  RATTRAY,  as  I  say,  was  seated  at 
the  head  of  his  table,  where  the  broken 
meats  still  lay  as  he  and  I  had  left  them;  his 
fingers,  I  remember,  were  playing  with  a  crust, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  distant  door,  as  he  leant 
back  in  his  chair.  Behind  him  hovered  the  nigger 
of  the  Lady  Jermyn,  whom  I  had  been  the  slower 
to  recognize,  had  not  her  skipper  sat  facing  me 
on  the  squire's  right.  Yes,  there  was  Captain 
Harris  in  the  flesh,  eating  heartily  between  great 
gulps  of  wine,  instead  of  feeding  the  fishes  as  all 
the  world  supposed.  And  nearer  still,  nearer  me 
than  any,  with  his  back  to  my  window  but  his 
chair  slued  round  a  little,  so  that  he  also  could 
see  that  door,  and  I  his  profile,  sat  Joaquin  Santos 
with  his  cigarette ! 

None  spoke;  all  seemed  waiting;  and  all  were 
silent  but  the  captain,  whose  vulgar  champing 
reached  me  through  the  crazy  lattice,  as  I  stood 
spellbound  and  petrified  without. 

They  say  that  a  drowning  man  lives  his  life 
117 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

again  before  the  last;  but  my  own  fight  with  the 
sea  provided  me  with  no  such  moments  of  vivid 
and  rapid  retrospect  as  those  during  which  I  stood 
breathless  outside  the  lighted  windows  of  Kirby 
Hall.  I  landed  again.  I  was  dogged  day  and 
night.  I  set  it  down  to  nerves  and  notoriety;  but 
took  refuge  in  a  private  hotel.  One  followed  me, 
engaged  the  next  room,  set  a  watch  on  all  my 
movements;  another  came  in  by  the  window  to 
murder  me  in  my  bed;  no  party  to  that,  the  first 
one  nevertheless  turned  the  outrage  to  account, 
wormed  himself  into  my  friendship  on  the  strength 
of  it,  and  lured  me  hither,  an  easy  prey.  And  here 
y/as  the  gang  of  them,  to  meet  me!  No  wonder 
Rattray  had  not  let  me  see  him  off  at  the  station; 
no  wonder  I  had  not  been  followed  that  night. 
Every  link  I  saw  in  its  right  light  instantly.  Only 
the  motive  remained  obscure.  Suspicious  circum- 
stances swarmed  upon  my  slow  perception:  how 
innocent  I  had  been!  Less  Innocent,  however, 
than  wilfully  and  wholly  reckless:  what  had  it 
mattered  with  whom  I  made  friends?  What  had 
anything  mattered  to  me?  What  did  anything 
matter — 

I  thought  my  heart  had  snapped! 

Why  were  they  watching  that  door,  Joaquin 
Santos  and  the  young  squire?     Whom  did  they 

ii8 


I  Live  Again 

await?  I  knew!  Oh,  I  knew!  My  heart  leaped, 
my  blood  danced,  my  eyes  lay  in  wait  with  theirs. 
Everything  began  to  matter  once  more.  It  was 
as  though  the  machinery  of  my  soul,  long  stopped, 
had  suddenly  been  set  in  motion ;  it  was  as  though 
I  was  born  again. 

How  long  we  seemed  to  wait  I  need  not  say. 
It  cannot  have  been  many  moments  in  reality,  for 
Santos  was  blowing  his  rings  of  smoke  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  door,  and  the  first  that  I  noticed 
were  but  dissolving  when  it  opened — and  the  best 
was  true !  One  instant  I  saw  her  very  clearly,  in 
the  light  of  a  candle  which  she  carried  in  its  silver 
stick;  then  a  mist  blinded  me,  and  I  fell  on  my 
knees  in  the  rank  bed  into  which  I  had  stepped, 
to  give  such  thanks  to  the  Almighty  as  this  heart 
has  never  felt  before  or  since.  And  I  remained 
kneeling;  for  now  my  face  was  on  a  level  with  the 
sill;  and  when  my  eyes  could  see  again,  there  stood 
my  darling  before  them  in  the  room. 

Like  a  queen  she  stood.  In  the  very  travelling 
cloak  in  which  I  had  seen  her  last;  it  was  tattered 
now,  but  she  held  it  close  about  her  as  though  a 
shrewd  wind  bit  her  to  the  core.  Her  sweet  face 
was  all  peeked  and  pale  in  the  candle-light:  she 
who  had  been  a  child  was  come  to  womanhood 
in  a  few  weeks.     But  a  new  spirit  flashed  in  her 

119 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

dear  eyes,  a  new  strength  hardened  her  young  lips. 
She  stood  as  an  angel  brought  to  book  by  devils; 
and  so  noble  was  her  calm  defiance,  so  serene  her 
scorn,  that,  as  I  watched  and  listened,  all  present 
fear  for  her  passed  out  of  my  heart. 

The  first  sound  was  the  hasty  rising  of  young 
Rattray;  he  was  at  Eva's  side  next  instant,  essay- 
ing to  lead  her  to  his  chair,  with  a  flush  which 
deepened  as  she  repulsed  him  coldly. 

"You  have  sent  for  me,  and  I  have  come,"  said 
she.  "But  I  prefer  not  to  sit  down  in  your  pres- 
ence ;  and  what  you  have  to  say,  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  say  as  quickly  as  possible,  that  I  may 
go  again  before  I  am — stifled!" 

It  was  her  one  hot  word;  aimed  at  them  all, 
it  seemed  to  me  to  fall  like  a  lash  on  Rattray's 
cheek,  bringing  the  blood  to  it  like  lightning.  But 
it  was  Santos  who  snatched  the  cigarette  from  his 
mouth,  and  opened  upon  the  defenceless  girl  in 
a  torrent  of  Portuguese,  yellow  with  rage,  and  a 
very  windmill  of  lean  arms  and  brown  hands  in 
the  terrifying  rapidity  of  his  gesticulations.  They 
did  not  terrify  Eva  Denison.  When  Rattray  took 
a  step  towards  the  speaker,  with  flashing  eyes,  it 
was  some  word  from  Eva  that  checked  him;  when 
Santos  was  done,  it  was  to  Rattray  that  she  turned 
with  her  answer. 

120 


One  instant  I  saw  her  very  clearly,  in  the  light  of  a  candle. 


I  Live  Ao;ain 

"He  calls  me  a  liar  for  telling  you  that  Mr. 
Cole  knew  all,"  said  she,  thrilling  me  with  my 
own  name.  "Don't  you  say  anything,"  she  added, 
as  the  young  man  turned  on  Santos  with  a  scowl; 
"you  are  one  as  wicked  as  the  other,  but  there- 
was  a  time  when  I  thought  differently  of  you:  his' 
character  I  have  always  known.  Of  the  two  evils, 
I  prefer  to  speak  to  you." 

Rattray   bowed,    humbly    enough,    1    thought; 
but  my  darling's  nostrils  only  curled  the  more. 

"He  calls  me  a  liar,"  she  continued;  "sd  may 
you  all.  Since  you  have  found  It  out,  I  admit 
it  freely  and  without  shame;  one  must  be  false  in 
the  hands  of  false  fiends  like  all  of  you.  Weak- 
ness is  nothing  to  you ;  helplessness  is  nothing ;  you 
must  be  met  with  your  own  weapons,  and  so  I  lied 
in  my  sore  extremity  to  gain  the  one  miserable  ad- 
vantage within  my  reach.  He  says  you  found  me 
out  by  making  friends  with  Mr.  Cole.  He  says 
that  Mr.  Cole  has  been  dining  with  you  in  this 
very  room,  this  very  night.  You  still  tell  the  truth  ^ 
sometimes;  has  that  man — that  demon — told  it" 
for  once?" 

"It  is  perfectly  true,"   said   Rattray  in  a  low 
voice. 

"And  poor  Mr.   Cole  told  you  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  your  villany?" 

121 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"I  found  out  that  he  knew  absolutely  nothing 
— after  first  thinking  otherwise." 

"Suppose  he  had  known?  What  would  you 
have  done?" 

Rattray  said  nothing.  Santos  shrugged  as  he 
lit  a  fresh  cigarette.  The  captain  went  on  with 
his  supper. 

"Ashamed  to  say!"  cried  Eva'Denison.  "So 
you  have  some  shame  left  still !  Well,  I  will  tell 
you.  You  would  have  murdered  him,  as  you  mur- 
dered all  the  rest;  you  would  have  killed  him  in 
cold  blood,  as  I  wish  and  pray  that  you  would 
kill  me!" 

The  young  fellow  faced  her,  white  to  the  lips. 
"You  have  no  right  to  say  that,  Miss  Denison !" 
he  cried.  "I  may  be  bad,  but,  as  I  am  ready  to 
answer  for  my  sins,  the  crime  of  murder  is  not 
among  them." 

Well,  it  is  still  some  satisfaction  to  remember 
that  my  love  never  punished  me  with  such  a  look 
as  was  the  young  squire's  reward  for  this  protesta- 
tion. The  curl  of  the  pink  nostrils,  the  parting  of 
the  proud  lips,  the  gleam  of  the  sound  white  teeth, 
before  a  word  was  spoken,  were  more  than  I,  for 
one,  could  have  borne.  For  I  did  not  see  the  grief 
underlying  the  scorn,  but  actually  found  it  in  my 
heart  to  pity  this  poor  devil  of  a  Rattray:  so  hum- 

122 


I  Live  Again 

biy  fell  those  fine  eyes  of  his,  so  like  a  dog  did  he 
stand,  waiting  to  be  whipped. 

"Yes;  you  are  very  innocent!"  she  began  at  last, 
so  softly  that  I  could  scarcely  hear,  "You  have 
not  committed  murder,  so  you  say;  let  it  stand 
to  your  credit  by  all  means.  You  have  no  blood 
upon  your  hands;  you  say  so;  that  is  enough.  No! 
you  are  comparatively  innocent,  I  admit.  All  you 
have  done  is  to  make  murder  easy  for  others;  to 
get  others  to  do  the  dirty  work,  and  then  shelter 
them  and  share  the  gain;  all  you  need  have  on 
your  conscience  is  every  life  that  was  lost  with  the 
Lady  Jermyn,  and  every  soul  that  lost  itself  in 
losing  them.  You  call  that  innocence?  Then 
give  me  honest  guilt !  Give  me  the  man  who  set 
fire  to  the  ship,  and  who  sits  there  eating  his  sup- 
per; he  is  more  of  a  man  than  you.  Give  me  the 
wretch  who  has  beaten  men  to  death  before  my 
eyes;  there's  something  great  about  a  monster  like 
that,  there's  something  to  loathe.  His  assistant 
is  only  little — mean — despicable!" 

Loud  and  hurried  in  its  wrath,  low  and  deliber- 
ate in  its  contempt,  all  this  was  uttered  with  a 
furious  and  abnormal  eloquence,  which  would 
have  struck  me,  loving  her,  to  the  ground.  On 
Rattray  it  had  a  different  effect.  His  head  lifted 
as  she  heaped  abuse  upon  it,  until  he  met  her  flash- 

123 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

ing  eye  with  that  of  a  man  very  thankful  to  take 
his  deserts  and  something  more;  and  to  mine  he 
was  least  despicable  when  that  last  word  left  her 
lips.  When  he  saw  that  it  was  her  last,  he  took 
her  candle  (she  had  put  it  down  on  the  ancient 
settle  against  the  door),  and  presented  it  to  her 
with  another  bow.  And  so  without  a  word  he 
led  her  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  bowed  yet 
lower  as  she  swept  out,  but  still  without  a  tinge 
of  mockery  in  the  obeisance. 

He  was  closing  the  door  after  her  when  Joaquin 
Santos  reached  it. 

"Diablo!"  cried  he.  "Why  let  her  go?  We 
have  not  done  with  her." 

"That  doesn't  matter;  she  is  done  with  us," 
was  the  stern  reply. 

"It  does  matter,"  retorted  Santos;  "what  is 
more,  she  is  my  step-daughter,  and  back  she  shall 
come !" 

"She  is  also  my  visitor,  and  I'm  damned  if 
you're  going  to  make  her!" 

An  instant  Santos  stood,  his  back  to  me,  his 
lingers  working,  his  neck  brown  with  blood;  then 
his  coat  went  into  creases  across  the  shoulders, 
and  he  was  shrugging  still  as  he  turned  away. 

"Your  veesitor!"  said  he.  "Your  veesitor! 
Your  veesitor!" 

124 


I  Live  Again 

Harris  laughed  outright  as  he  raised  his  glass; 
the  hot  young  squire  had  him  by  the  collar,  and 
the  wine  was  spilling  on  the  cloth,  as  I  rose  very 
cautiously  and  crept  back  to  the  path. 

"When  rogues  fall  out!"  I  was  thinking  to 
myself.  "I  shall  save  her  yet — I  shall  save  my 
darling!" 

Already  I  was  accustomed  to  the  thought  that 
she  still  lived,  and  to  the  big  heart  she  had  set 
beating  in  my  feeble  frame ;  already  the  continued 
existence  of  these  villains,  with  the  first  dim  ink- 
ling of  their  villainy,  was  ceasing  to  be  a  novelty 
in  a  brain  now  quickened  and  prehensile  beyond 
belief.  And  yet — but  a  few  minutes  had  I  knelt 
at  the  window — but  a  few  more  was  it  since  Rat- 
tray and  I  had  shaken  hands ! 

Not  his  visitor;  his  prisoner,  without  a  doubt; 
but  alive !  alive !  and  neither  guest  nor  prisoner 
for  many  hours  more.  O  my  love !  O  my  heart's 
delight!  Now  I  knew  why  I  was  spared;  to  save 
her;  to  snatch  her  from  these  rascals;  to  cherish 
and  protect  her  evermore ! 

All  the  past  shone  clear  behind  me;  the  dark 
was  lightness  and  the  crooked  straight.  All  the 
future  lay  clear  ahead;  it  presented  no  difficulties 
yet;  a  mad,  ecstatic  confidence  was  mine  for  the 
wildest,  happiest  moments  of  my  life. 

125 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  stood  upright  in  the  darkness.    I  saw  her  light ! 

It  was  ascending  the  tower  at  the  building's 
end;  now  in  this  window  it  glimmered,  now  in  the 
one  above.  At  last  it  was  steady,  high  up  near  the 
stars,  and  I  stole  below. 

"Eva !     Eva !" 

There  was  no  answer.  Low  as  it  was,  my 
voice  was  alarming;  it  cooled  and  cautioned  me. 
I  sought  little  stones,  I  crept  back  to  throw  them. 
Ah  God !  her  form  eclipsed  that  lighted  slit  in  the 
gray  stone  tower.  I  heard  her  weeping  high 
above  me  at  her  window. 

"Eva!     Eva!" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  a  little  cry  of  glad- 
ness. 

"Is  it  Mr.  Cole?"  came  in  an  eager  whisper 
through  her  tears. 

"Yes !  yes  !  I  was  outside  the  window.  I  heard 
everything ' ' 

"They  will  hear  you!"  she  cried  softly,  In  a 
steadier  voice. 

"No — listen!"  They  were  quarrelling.  Rat- 
tray's voice  was  loud  and  angry.  "They  cannot 
hear,"  I  continued,  in  more  cautious  tones;  "they 
think  I'm  in  bed  and  asleep  half-a-mile  away.  Oh, 
thank  God!  I'll  get  you  away  from  them;  trust 
me,  my  love,  my  darling!" 

126 


I  Live  Again 

In  my  madness  I  knew  not  what  i  said;  It  was 
my  wild  heart  speaking.  Some  moments  passed 
before  she  replied. 

"Will  you  promise  to  do  nothing  I  ask  you  not 
to  do?" 

"Of  course." 

"My  life  might  answer  for  it " 

"I  promise — I  promise." 

^'Then  wait — hide — watch  my  light.  When 
you  see  it  back  In  the  window,  watch  with  all 
your  eyes !  I  am  going  to  write  and  then  throw  it 
out.     Not  another  syllable!" 

She  was  gone;  there  was  a  long  yellow  slit  in 
the  masonry  once  more;  her  light  burnt  faint  and 
far  within. 

I  retreated  among  some  bushes  and  kept 
watch. 

The  moon  was  skimming  beneath  the  surface 
of  a  sea  of  clouds :  now  the  black  billows  had  silver 
crests:  now  an  Incandescent  buoy  bobbed  among 
them.     O  for  enough  light,  and  no  more ! 

In  the  hall  the  high  voices  were  more  subdued. 
I  heard  the  captain's  tipsy  laugh.  My  eyes 
fastened  themselves  upon  that  faint  and  lofty 
light,  and  on  my  heels  I  crouched  among  the 
bushes- 

The  flame  moved,  flickered,  and  shone  small 
127 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

but  brilliant  on  the  very  sill.  I  ran  forward  on 
tip-toe.  A  white  flake  fluttered  to  my  feet.  I 
secured  it  and  waited  for  one  word;  none  came; 
but  the  window  was  softly  shut. 

I  stood  in  doubt,  the  treacherous  moonlight  all 
over  me  now,  and  once  more  the  window  opened. 

"Go  quickly!" 

And  again  it  was  shut;  next  moment  I  was 
stealing  close  by  the  spot  where  I  had  knelt.  I 
saw  within  once  more. 

Harris  nodded  in  his  chair.  The  nigger  had 
disappeared.  Rattray  was  lighting  a  candle,  and 
the  Portuguese  holding  out  his  hand  for  the 
match. 

"Did  you  lock  the  gate,  senhor?"  asked  Santos. 

"No;  but  I  will  now." 

As  I  opened  it  I  heard  a  door  open  within.  I 
could  hardly  let  the  latch  down  again  for  the  sud- 
den trembling  of  my  fingers.  The  key  turned  be- 
hind me  ere  I  had  twenty  yards'  start. 

Thank  God  there  was  light  enough  now !  I 
followed  the  beck.  I  found  my  way.  I  stood  in 
the  open  valley,  between  the  oak-plantation  and 
my  desolate  cottage,  and  I  kissed  my  tiny,  twisted 
note  again  and  again  in  a  paroxysm  of  passion 
and  of  insensate  joy.  Then  I  unfolded  it  and . 
held  It  to  my  eyes  in  the  keen  October  moonshine. 

128 


CHAPTER   XII 

MY     lady's     bidding 

SCRIBBLED  in  sore  haste,  by  a  very  tremu- 
lous little  hand,  with  a  pencil,  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  some  book,  my  darling's  message  is  still 
difficult  to  read;  it  was  doubly  so  in  the  moonlight, 
five-and- forty  autumns  ago.  My  eyesight,  how- 
ever, was  then  perhaps  the  soundest  thing  about 
me,  and  in  a  little  I  had  deciphered  enough  to 
guess  correctly  (as  it  proved)  at  the  whole: — 

"You  say  you  heard  everything  just  now,  and  there  is 
no  time  for  further  explanations.  I  am  in  the  hands  of 
villains,  but  not  ill-treated,  though  they  are  one  as  bad 
as  the  other.  You  will  not  find  it  easy  to  rescue  me. 
I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  be  done.  You  have  promised  not 
to  do  anything  I  ask  you  not  to  do,  and  I  implore  you 
not  to  tell  a  soul  until  you  have  seen  me  again  and  heard 
more.  You  might  just  as  ivell  kill  me  as  come  back  now 
with  help. 

"You  see  you  know  nothing,  though  I  told  them  you 
knew  all.  And  so  you  shall  as  soon  as  I  can  see  you  for 
five  minutes  face  to  face.  In  the  meantime  do  nothing — 
know  nothing  when  you  see  Mr.  Rattray — unless  you  wish 
to  be  my  death. 

129 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"It  would  have  been  possible  last  night,  and  it  may  be 
again  to-morrow  night.  They  all  go  out  every  night  when 
they  can,  except  Jose,  who  is  left  in  charge.  They  are  out 
from  nine  or  ten  till  two  or  three ;  if  they  are  out  to-mor- 
I  row  night  my  candle  will  be  close  to  the  window  as  I  shall 
put  it  when  I  have  finished  this.  You  can  see  my  window 
from  over  the  wall.  If  the  light  is  in  front  you  must 
climb  the  wall,  for  they  will  leave  the  gate  locked.  I 
shall  see  you  and  will  bribe  Jose  to  let  me  out  for  a  turn. 
He  has  done  it  before  for  a  bottle  of  wine.  I  can  manage 
him.  Can  I  trust  to  you?  If  you  break  your  promise — 
but  you  will  not?  One  of  them  would  as  soon  kill  me  as 
smoke  a  cigarette,  and  the  rest  are  under  his  thumb.  I 
dare  not  write  more.    But  ?ny  life  is  in  your  hands. 

"Eva  Denison." 

"Oh!  beware  of  the  woman  Braithwaite;  she  is  about 
the  worst  of  the  gang." 

I  could  have  burst  out  crying  in  my  bitter  dis- 
comfiture, mortification,  and  alarm:  to  think  that 
her  life  was  In  my  hands,  and  that  It  depended, 
not  on  that  prompt  action  which  was  the  one 
course  I  had  contemplated,  but  on  twenty-four 
hours  of  resolute  Inactivity! 

I  would  not  think  It.  I  refused  the  condition. 
It  took  away  my  one  prop,  my  one  stay,  that  pros- 
pect of  Immediate  measures  which  alone  preserved 
In  me  such  coolness  as  I  had  retained  until  now. 
I  was  cool  no  longer;  where  I  had  relied  on  prac- 

130 


My  Lady's  Bidding 

tical  direction  I  was  baffled  and  hindered  and 
driven  mad;  on  my  honor  I  believe  I  was  little  less 
for  some  moments,  groaning,  cursing,  and  beat- 
ing the  air  with  impotent  fists — in  one  of 
them  my  poor  love's  letter  crushed  already  to  a 
balh 

Danger  and  difficulty  I  had  been  prepared  to 
face;  but  the  task  that  I  was  set  was  a  hundred- 
fold harder  than  any  that  had  whirled  through 
my  teeming  brain.  To  sit  still;  to  do  nothing;  to 
pretend  I  knew  nothing;  an  hour  of  it  would  de- 
stroy my  reason — and  I  was  invited  to  wait 
twenty- four ! 

No;  my  word  was  passed;  keep  it  I  must.  She 
knew  the  men,  she  must  know  best;  and  her  life 
depended  on  my  obedience :  she  made  that  so  plain. 
Obey  I  must  and  would;  to  make  a  start,  I  tottered 
over  the  plank  that  spanned  the  beck,  and  soon  I 
saw  the  cottage  against  the  moonlit  sky.  I  came 
up  to  it.  I  drew  back  in  sudden  fear.  It  was 
alight  upstairs  and  down,  and  the  gaunt  strong 
figure  of  the  woman  Braithwaite  stood  out  as  I 
had  seen  it  first,  in  the  doorway,  with  the  light 
showing  warmly  through  her  rank  red  hair. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Cole?"  she  cried  in  a  tone 
that  she  reserved  for  me;  yet  through  the  forced 
amiability  there  rang  a  note  of  genuine  surprise. 

131 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

She  had  been  prepared  for  me  never  to  return 
at  all! 

My  knees  gave  under  me  as  I  forced  myself  to 
advance;  but  my  wits  took  new  life  from  the 
crisis,  and  in  a  flash  I  saw  how  to  turn  my  weak- 
ness into  account.  I  made  a  false  step  on  my  way 
to  the  door;  when  I  reached  It  I  leant  heavily 
against  the  jam,  and  I  said  with  a  slur  that  I  felt 
unwell.  I  had  certainly  been  flushed  with  wine 
when  I  left  Rattray;  it  would  be  no  bad  thing  for 
him  to  hear  that  I  had  arrived  quite  tipsy  at  the 
cottage;  should  he  discover  I  had  been  near  an 
hour  on  the  way,  here  was  my  explanation  cut  and 
dried. 

So  I  shammed  a  degree  of  intoxication  with 
apparent  success,  and  Jane  Braithwaite  gave  me 
her  arm  up  the  stairs.  My  God,  how  strong  it 
was,  and  how  weak  was  mine ! 

Left  to  myself,  I  reeled  about  my  bedroom,  pre- 
tending to  undress;  then  out  with  my  candles,  and 
into  bed  in  all  my  clothes,  until  the  cottage  should 
be  quiet.  Yes,  I  must  lie  still  and  fe'.gn  sleep, 
with  ever'  nerve  and  fibre  leaping  within  me,  lest 
the  she-c  II  below  should  suspect  me  of  suspi- 
cions !  It  was  with  her  I  had  to  cope  for  the  next 
four-and-twenty  hours;  and  she  filled  me  with  a 
greater  present  terror  than  all  those  villains  at 

132 


My  Lady's  Bidding 

the  hall;  for  had  not  their  poor  little  ^elpless  cap- 
tive described  her  as  "about  the  vn  orst  of  the 
gang?" 

To  think  that  my  love  lay  helpless  there  in  the 
hands  of  those  wretches;  and  to  think  that  her 
lover  lay  helpless  here  in  the  supervision  of  this  ' 
vile  virago ! 

It  must  have  been  one  or  two  in  the  morning 
when  I  stole  to  my  sitting-room  window,  opened 
it,  and  sat  down  to  think  steadily,  with  the  coun- 
terpane about  my  shoulders. 

The  moon  sailed  high  and  almost  full  above 
the  clouds;  these  were  dispersing  as  the  night 
wore  on,  and  such  as  remained  were  of  a  beautiful 
soft  tint  between  white  and  gray.  The  sky  was 
too  light  for  stars,  and  beneath  it  the  open  coun- 
try stretched  so  clear  and  far  that  it  was  as  though 
one  looked  out  at  noonday  through  slate-colored 
glass.  Down  the  dewy  slope  below  my  window 
a  few  calves  fed  with  toothless  mouthings;  the 
beck  was  very  audible,  the  oak-trees  less  so;  but' 
for  these  peaceful  sounds  the  stillness  and  the  soli- ' 
tude  were  equally  intense. 

I  may  have  sat  there  like  a  mouse  for  half  an 
hour.  The  reason  was  that  I  had  become  merci- 
fully engrossed  In  one  of  the  subsidiary  problems: 
whether  it  would  be  better  to  drop  from  the  win- 

^33 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

dow  or  to  trust  to  the  creaking  stairs.  Would 
the  creaking  be  much  worse  than  the  thud,  and 
the  difference  worth  the  risk  of  a  sprained  ankle? 
Well  worth  It,  I  at  length  decided;  the  risk  was 
nothing ;  my  window  was  scarce  a  dozen  feet  from 
the  ground.  How  easily  It  could  be  done,  how 
quickly,  how  safely  in  this  deep  stillness  and 
bright  moonlight!  I  would  fall  so  lightly  on  my 
stocking  soles;  a  single  soft,  dull  thud;  then  away 
under  the  moon  without  fear  or  risk  of  a  false 
step;  away  over  the  stone  walls  to  the  main  road, 
and  so  to  the  nearest  police-station  with  my  tale; 
and  before  sunrise  the  villains  would  be  taken  in 
their  beds,  and  my  darling  would  be  safe ! 

I  sprang  up  softly.  Why  not  do  it  now?  Was 
1  bound  to  keep  my  rash,  blind  promise?  Was  it 
possible  these  murderers  would  murder  her?  I 
struck  a  match  on  my  trousers,  I  lit  a  candle,  I 
read  her  letter  carefully  again,  and  again  it  mad- 
dened and  distracted  me.  I  struck  my  hands  to- 
gether. I  paced  the  room  wildly.  Caution  de- 
serted me,  and  I  made  noise  enough  to  wake  the 
very  mute ;  lost  to  every  consideration  but  that  of 
the  terrifying  day  before  me,  the  day  of  silence 
and  of  inactivity,  that  I  must  live  through  with  an 
unsuspecting  face,  a  cool  head,  a  civil  tongue! 
The  prospect  appalled  me  as  nothing  else  could 

134 


My  Lady's  Bidding 

or  did;  nay,  the  sudden  noise  upon  the  stairs,  the 
knock  at  my  door,  and  the  sense  that  I  had  be- 
trayed myself  already — that  even  now  all  was 
over — these  came  as  a  relief  after  the  haunting 
terror  which  they  interrupted. 

I  flung  the  door  open,  and  there  stood  Mrs. 
Braithwaite,  as  fully  dressed  as  myself. 

"You'll  not  be  very  well,  sir?" 

"No,  I'm  not." 

"What's  t'  matter  wi'  you?" 

This  second  question  was  rude  and  fierce  with 
suspicion:  the  real  woman  rang  out  in  it,  yet  its 
effect  on  me  was  astonishing:  once  again  was  I 
inspired  to  turn  my  slip  into  a  move. 

"Matter?"  I  cried.  "Can't  you  see  what's  the 
matter;  couldn't  you  see  when  I  came  in?  Drink's 
the  matter!  I  came  in  drunk,  and  now  I'm  mad. 
I  can't  stand  it;  I'm  not  in  a  fit  state.  Do  you 
know  nothing  of  me?  Have  they  told  you  noth- 
ing? I'm  the  only  man  that  was  saved  from  the 
Lady  Jermyn,  the  ship  that  was  burned  to  the 
water's  edge  with  every  soul  but  me.  My  nerves 
are  in  little  ends.  I  came  down  here  for  peace  and 
quiet  and  sleep.  Do  you  know  that  I  have  hardly 
slept  for  two  months?  And  now  I  shall  never 
sleep  again !  O  my  God  I  shall  die  for  want  of 
it!     The  wine  has  done  it.     I  never  should  have 

135 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

touched  a  drop.  I  can't  stand  it;  I  can't  sleep 
after  it;  I  shall  kill  myself  if  I  get  no  sleep.  Do 
you  hear,  you  woman  ?  I  shall  kill  myself  in  your 
house  if  I  don't  get  to  sleep!" 

I  saw  her  shrink,  virago  as  she  was.  I  waved 
my  arms,  I  shrieked  in  her  face.  It  was  not  all 
acting.  Heaven  knows  how  true  it  was  about  the 
sleep.  I  was  slowly  dying  of  insomnia.  I  was  a 
nervous  wreck.  She  must  have  heard  it.  Now 
she  saw  it  for  herself. 

No;  it  was  by  no  means  all  acting.  Intending 
only  to  lie,  I  found  myself  telling  little  but  the 
strictest  truth,  and  longing  for  sleep  as  passion- 
ately as  though  I  had  nothing  to  keep  me  awake. 
And  yet,  while  my  heart  cried  aloud  in  spite  of 
me,  and  my  nerves  relieved  themselves  in  this  un- 
premeditated ebullition,  I  was  all  the  time  watch- 
ing its  effect  as  closely  as  though  no  word  of  it 
had  been  sincere. 

Mrs.  Braithwaite  seemed  frightened;  not  at  all 
pitiful;  and  as  I  calmed  down  she  recovered  her 
courage  and  became  insolent.  I  had  spoilt  her 
night.  She  had  not  been  told  she  was  to  take  in 
a  raving  lunatic.  She  would  speak  to  Squire  Rat- 
tray in  the  morning. 

"Morning?"  I  yelled  after  her  as  she  went. 
"Send  your  husband  to  the  nearest  chemist  as  soon 

136 


My  Lady's  Bidding 

as  it's  dawn;  send  him  for  chloral,  chloroform, 
morphia,  anything  they've  got  and  as  much  of  it 
as  they'll  let  him  have.  I'll  give  you  five  pounds 
if  you  get  me  what'll  send  me  to  sleep  all  to-mor- 
row— and  to-morrow  night!" 

Never,  I  feel  sure,  were  truth  and  falsehood 
more  craftily  interwoven;  yet  I  had  thought  of 
none  of  it  until  the  woman  was  at  my  door,  while 
of  much  I  had  not  thought  at  all.  It  had  rushed 
from  my  heart  and  from  my  lips.  And  no  sooner 
was  I  alone  than  I  burst  into  hysterical  tears,  only 
to  stop  and  compliment  myself  because  they 
sounded  genuine — as  though  they  were  not! 
Towards  morning  I  took  to  my  bed  in  a  burning 
fever,  and  lay  there,  now  congratulating  myself 
upon  it,  because  when  night  came  they  would  all 
think  me  so  secure;  and  now  weeping  because  the 
night  might  find  me  dying  or  dead.  So  I  tossed, 
with  her  note  clasped  in  my  hand  underneath  the 
sheets;  and  beneath  my  very  body  that  stout 
weapon  that  I  had  bought  in  town.  I  might  not 
have  to  use  it,  but  I  was  fatalist  enough  to  fancy 
that  I  should.  In  the  meantime  it  helped  me  to 
lie  still,  my  thoughts  fixed  on  the  night,  and  the 
day  made  easy  for  me  after  all. 

If  only  I  could  sleep ! 

About  nine  o'clock  Jane  Braithwaite  paid  me 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

a  surly  visit;  in  half  an  hour  she  was  back  with 
tea  and  toast  and  an  altered  mien.  She  not  only 
lit  my  fire,  but  treated  me  the  while  to  her  original 
tone  of  almost  fervent  civility  and  respect  and  de- 
termination. Her  vagaries  soon  ceased  to  puzzle 
me:  the  psychology  of  Jane  Braithwaite  was  not 
recondite.  In  the  night  it  had  dawned  upon  her 
that  Rattray  had  found  me  harmless  and  was  done 
with  me,  therefore  there  was  no  need  for  her  to 
put  herself  out  any  further  on  my  account.  In  the 
morning,  finding  me  really  ill,  she  had  gone  to  the 
hall  in  alarm;  her  subsequent  attentions  were  an 
act  of  obedience ;  and  in  their  midst  came  Rattray 
himself  to  my  bedside. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE    LONGEST    DAY    OF    MY    LIFE 

THE  boy  looked  so  blithe  and  buoyant,  so 
gallant  and  still  so  frank,  that  even  now  I 
could  not  think  as  meanly  of  him  as  poor  Eva  did. 
A  rogue  he  must  be,  but  surely  not  the  petty  rogue 
that  she  had  made  him  out.  Yet  it  was  dirty  work 
that  he  had  done  by  me;  and  there  I  had  to  lie  and 
take  his  kind,  false,  felon's  hand  in  mine. 

"My  poor  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  "I'm  most 
sorry  to  find  you  like  this.  But  I  was  afraid  of  it 
last  night.     It's  all  this  infernally  strong  air!" 

How  I  longed  to  tell  him  what  it  was,  and  to 
see  his  face  I  The  thought  of  Eva  alone  restrained 
me,  and  I  retorted  as  before,  in  a  tone  I  strove  to 
make  as  friendly,  that  It  was  his  admirable  wine 
and  nothing  else. 

"But  you  took  hardly  any." 

"I  shouldn't  have  touched  a  drop.  I  can't  stand 
it.  Instead  of  soothing  me  It  excites  me  to  the 
verge  of  madness.  I'm  almost  over  the  verge — 
for  want  of  sleep — my  trouble  ever  since  the 
trouble." 

139 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Again  I  was  speaking  the  literal  truth,  and 
again  congratulating  myself  as  though  it  were  a 
lie:  the  fellow  looked  so  distressed  at  my  state; 
indeed  I  believe  that  his  distress  vv^as  as  genuine 
as  mine,  and  his  sentiments  as  involved.  He  took 
my  hand  again,  and  his  brow  wrinkled  at  its  heat. 
He  asked  for  the  other  hand  to  feel  my  pulse.  1 
had  to  drop  my  letter  to  comply. 

"I  wish  to  goodness  there  was  something  I 
could  do  for  you,"  he  said.  "Would  you — ^would 
you  care  to  see  a  doctor?" 

I  shook  my  head,  and  could  have  smiled  at  his 
visible  relief. 

"Then  I'm  going  to  prescribe  for  you,"  he  said 
with  decision.  "It's  the  place  that  doesn't  agree 
with  you,  and  it  was  I  who  brought  you  to  the 
place ;  therefore  it's  for  me  to  get  you  out  of  It  as 
quick  as  possible.  Up  you  get,  and  I'll  drive  you 
to  the  station  myself !" 

I  had  another  work  to  keep  from  smiling:  he 
was  so  ingenuously  disingenuous.  There  was  less 
to  smile  at  in  his  really  nervous  anxiety  to  get  me 
away.  I  lay  there  reading  him  like  a  book:  it  was 
not  my  health  that  concerned  him,  of  course:  was 
it  my  safety?  I  told  him  he  little  knew  how  111  I 
was — an  inglorious  speech  that  came  hard,  though 
not  by  any  means  untrue.     "Move  me  with  this 

140 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

fever  on  me?"  said  I;  "it  would  be  as  much  as  my 
miserable  life  is  worth." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  he,  "that  it  may  be  as  much 
as  your  life's  worth  to  stay  on  here!"  And  there 
was  such  real  fear,  in  his  voice  and  eyes,  that  it 
reconciled  me  there  and  then  to  the  discomfort 
of  a  big  revolver  between  the  mattress  and  the 
srnall  of  my  back.  "We  must  get  you  out  of  it," 
he  continued,  "the  moment  you  feel  fit  to  stir. 
Shall  we  say  to-morrow?" 

"If  you  like,"  I  said,  advisedly;  "and  if  I  can 
get  some  sleep  to-day." 

"Then  to-morrow  it  is !  You  see  I  know  it's 
the  climate,"  he  added,  jumping  from  tone  to 
tone;  "it  couldn't  have  been  those  two  or  three 
glasses  of  sound  wine." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  Is?"  I  said,  looking 
him  full  in  the  face,  with  eyes  that  I  dare  say  were 
wild  enough  with  fever  and  insomnia.  "It's  the 
burning  of  the  Lady  Jermyn!"  I  cried.  "It's  the 
faces  and  the  shrieks  of  the  women;  it's  the  curs- 
ing and  the  fighting  of  the  men;  it's  boat-loads 
struggling  in  an  oily  sea ;  it's  husbands  and  wives 
jumping  overboard  together;^ it's  men  turned  into 
devils,  it's  hell-fire  afloat " 

"Stop!  stop!"  he  whispered,  hoarse  as  a  crow. 
I  was  sitting  up  with  my  hot  eyes  upon  him.    He 

141 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

was  white  as  the  quilt,  and  the  bed  shook  with  his 
trembling.  I  had  gone  as  far  as  was  prudent,  and 
I  lay  back  with  a  glow  of  secret  satisfaction. 

"Yes,  I  will  stop,"  said  I,  "and  I  wouldn't  have 
begun  if  you  hadn't  found  it  so  difficult  to  under- 
stand my  trouble.  Now  you  know  what  it  Is. 
It's  the  old  trouble.  I  came  up  here  to  forget  it; 
instead  of  that  I  drink  too  much  and  tell  you  all 
about  it ;  and  the  two  things  together  have  bowled 
me  over.  But  I'll  go  to-morrow;  only  give  me 
something  to  put  me  asleep  till  then." 

"I  will!"  he  vowed.  "I'll  go  myself  to  the 
nearest  chemist,  and  he  shall  give  me  the  very 
strongest  stuff  he's  got.  Good-by,  and  don't  you 
stir  till  I  come  back — for  your  own  sake.  I'll  go 
this  minute,  and  I'll  ride  like  hell!"  And  if  ever 
two  men  were  glad  to  be  rid  of  each  other,  they 
were  this  young  villain  and  myself. 

But  what  was  his  villany?  It  was  little  enough 
that  I  had  overheard  at  the  window,  and  still  less 
that  poor  Eva  had  told  me  in  her  hurried  lines. 
All  I  saw  clearly  was  that  the  Lady  Jermyn  and 
some  hundred  souls  had  perished  by  the  foulest  of 
foul  play;  that,  besides  Eva  and  myself,  only  the 
incendiaries  had  escaped;  that  somehow  these 
wretches  had  made  a  second  escape  from  the  gig, 
leaving  dead  men  and  word  of  their  own  death  be- 

142 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

hind  them  in  the  boat.  And  here  the  motive  was 
as  much  a  mystery  to  me  as  the  means ;  but,  in  my 
present  state,  both  were  also  matters  of  supreme 
indifference.  My  one  desire  was  to  rescue  my  love 
from  her  loathsome  captors;  of  little  else  did  I- 
pause  to  think.  Yet  Rattray's  visit  left  its  own 
mark  on  my  mind;  and  long  after  he  was  gone  I 
lay  puzzling  over  the  connection  between  a  young 
Lancastrian,  of  good  name,  of  ancient  property, 
of  great  personal  charm,  and  a  crime  of  unparal- 
leled atrocity  committed  in  cold  blood  on  the  high 
seas.  That  his  complicity  was  flagrant  I  had  no 
room  to  doubt,  after  Eva's  own  indictment  of  him, 
uttered  to  his  face  and  in  my  hearing.  Was  it  then 
the  usual  fraud  on  the  underwriters,  and  was  Rat- 
tray the  inevitable  accomplice  on  dry  land?  I 
could  think  of  none  but  the  conventional  motive 
for  destroying  a  vessel.  Yet  I  knew  there  must 
be  another  and  a  subtler  one,  to  account  not  only 
for  the  magnitude  of  the  crime,  but  for  the  pains 
which  the  actual  perpetrators  had  taken  to  con- 
ceal the  fact  of  their  survival,  and  for  the  union 
of  so  diverse  a  trinity  as  Senhor  Santos,  Captain 
Harris,  and  the  young  squire. 

It  must  have  been  about  mid-day  when  Rattray 
reappeared,  ruddy,  spurred,  and  splashed  with 
mud;  a  comfort  to  sick  eyes,  I  declare,  In  spite  of 

143 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

all.  He  brought  me  two  little  v^Ials,  put  one  on 
the  chimney-piece,  poured  the  other  into  my  tum- 
bler, and  added  a  little  water. 

"There,  old  fellow,"  said  he;  "swallow  that, 
and  if  you  don't  get  some  sleep  the  chemist  who 
made  it  up  is  the  greatest  liar  unhung." 

"What  is  it?'  I  asked,  the  glass  in  my  hand, 
and  my  eyes  on  those  of  my  companion. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  he.  "I  just  told  them  to 
make  up  the  strongest  sleeping-draught  that  was 
safe,  and  I  mentioned  something  about  your  case. 
Toss  it  off,  man;  it's  sure  to  be  all  right." 

Yes,  I  could  trust  him;  he  was  not  that  sort  of 
villain,  for  all  that  Eva  Denison  had  said.  I  liked 
his  face  as  well  as  ever.  I  liked  his  eye,  and  could 
have  sworn  to  its  honesty  as  I  drained  the  glass. 
Even  had  it  been  otherwise,  I  must  have  taken 
my  chance  or  shown  him  all;  as  it  was,  when  he 
had  pulled  down  my  blind,  and  shaken  my  pillow, 
and  he  gave  me  his  hand  once  more,  I  took  it  with 
involuntary  cordiality.  I  only  grieved  that  so  fine 
a  young  fellow  should  have  Involved  himself  in 
so  villainous  a  business;  yet  for  Eva's  sake  I  was 
glad  that  he  had;  for  my  mind  failed  (rather  than 
refused)  to  believe  him  so  black  as  she  had  painted 
him. 

The  long,  long  afternoon  that  followed  I  never 
144 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

shall  forget.  The  opiate  racked  my  head;  it  did 
not  do  its  work ;  and  I  longed  to  sleep  till  evening 
with  a  longing  I  have  never  known  before  or 
since.  Everything  seemed  to  depend  upon  it;  I 
should  be  a  man  again,  if  only  I  could  first  be  a 
log  for  a  few  hours.  But  no;  my  troubles  never 
left  me  for  an  instant;  and  there  I  must  lie,  pre- 
tending that  they  had !  For  the  other  draught 
was  for  the  night;  and  if  they  but  thought  the 
first  one  had  taken  due  effect,  so  much  the  less 
would  they  trouble  their  heads  about  me  when 
they  believed  that  I  had  swallowed  the  second. 

Oh,  but  it  was  cruel !  I  lay  and  wept  with 
weakness  and  want  of  sleep ;  ere  night  fell  I  knew 
that  it  would  find  me  useless,  if  indeed  my  reason 
lingered  on.  To  lie  there  helpless  when  Eva  was 
expecting  me,  that  would  be  the  finishing  touch. 
I  should  rise  a  maniac  if  ever  I  rose  at  all.  More 
probably  I  would  put  one  of  my  five  big  bullets 
into  my  own  splitting  head;  it  was  no  small  temp- 
tation, lying  there  in  a  double  agony,  with  the 
loaded  weapon  by  my  side. 

Then  sometimes  I  thought  it  was  coming;  and 
perhaps  for  an  instant  I  would  be  tossing  in  my 
hen-coop ;  then  back  once  more.  And  I  swear  that 
my  physical  and  mental  torments,  here  in  my  bed, 
would  have  been  incomparably  greater  than  any- 

145 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

thing  I  had  endured  on  the  sea,  but  for  the  saving 
grace  of  one  sweet  thought.  She  lived  1  She 
lived!  And  the  God  who  had  taken  care  of  me, 
a  castaway,  would  surely  deliver  her  also  from 
the  hands  of  murderers  and  thieves.  But  not 
through  me — I  lay  weak  and  helpless — and  my 
tears  ran  again  and  yet  again  as  I  felt  myself 
growing  hourly  weaker. 

I  remember  what  a  bright  fine  day  it  was,  with 
the  grand  open  country  all  smiles  beneath  a  clear, 
almost  frosty  sky,  once  when  I  got  up  on  tip-toe 
and  peeped  out.  A  keen  wind  whistled  about  the 
cottage;  I  felt  it  on  my  feet  as  I  stood;  but  never 
have  I  known  a  more  perfect  and  invigorating 
autumn  day.  And  there  I  must  lie,  with  the  man- 
hood ebbing  out  of  me,  the  manhood  that  I  needed 
so  for  the  night !  I  crept  back  into  bed.  I  swore 
that  I  would  sleep.  Yet  there  I  lay,  listening 
sometimes  to  that  vile  woman's  tread  below; 
sometimes  to  mysterious  whispers,  between  whom 
I  neither  knew  nor  cared;  anon  to  my  watch  tick- 
ing by  my  side,  to  the  heart  beating  in  my  body, 
hour  after  hour — hour  after  hour.  I  prayed  as  I 
have  seldom  prayed.  I  wept  as  I  have  never 
wept.  I  railed  and  blasphemed — not  with  my 
lips,  because  the  woman  must  think  I  was  asleep — 
but  so  much  the  more  viciously  in  my  heart. 

146 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

Suddenly  it  turned  dark.  There  were  no  gra- 
dations— not  even  a  tropical  twilight.  One  min- 
ute I  saw  the  sun  upon  the  blind ;  the  next — thank 
God  I  Oh,  thank  God!  No  light  broke  any  longer  ; 
through  the  blind;  just  a  faint  and  narrow  glim- 1 
mer  stole  between  it  and  the  casement;  and  the 
light  that  had  been  bright  golden  was  palest  silver 
now. 

It  was  the  moon.  I  had  been  in  dreamless  sleep 
for  hours. 

The  joy  of  that  discovery!  The  transport  of 
waking  to  it,  and  waking  refreshed !  The  swift 
and  sudden  miracle  that  it  seemed !  I  shall  never, 
never  forget  it,  still  less  the  sickening  thrill  of  fear 
which  was  cruelly  quick  to  follow  upon  my  joy. 
The  cottage  was  still  as  the  tomb.  What  if  I  had 
slept  too  long! 

With  trembling  hand  I  found  my  watch. 
Luckily  I  had  wound  it  in  the  early  morning.  I 
now  carried  it  to  the  window,  drew  back  the  blind, 
and  held  it  in  the  moonlight.  It  was  not  quite  ten 
o'clock.    And  yet  the  cottage  was  so  still — so  still. 

I  stole  to  the  door,  opened  it  by  cautious  de- 
grees, and  saw  the  reflection  of  a  light  below. 
Still  not  a  sound  could  I  hear,  save  the  rapid  draw- 
ing of  my  own  breath,  and  the  startled  beating  of 
my  own  heart. 

147 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  now  felt  certain  that  the  Bralthwaites  were 
out,  and  dressed  hastily,  making  as  little  noise  as 
possible,  and  still  hearing  absolutely  none  from 
below.  Then,  feeling  faint  with  hunger,  though 
a  new  being  after  my  sleep,  I  remembered  a  packet 
of  sandwiches  which  I  had  not  opened  on  my  jour- 
ney north.  These  I  transferred  from  my  travel- 
ling-bag (where  they  had  lain  forgotten)  to  my 
pocket,  before  drawing  down  the  blind,  leaving 
the  room  on  tip-toe,  and  very  gently  fastening  the 
door  behind  me.  On  the  stairs,  too,  I  trod  with 
the  utmost  caution,  feeling  the  wall  with  my  left 
hand  (my  right  was  full),  lest  by  any  chance  I 
might  be  mistaken  in  supposing  I  had  the  cottage 
to  myself.  In  spite  of  my  caution  there  came  a 
creak  at  every  step.  And  to  my  sudden  horror 
I  heard  a  chair  move  in  the  kitchen  below. 

My  heart  and  I  stood  still  together.  But  my 
right  hand  tightened  on  stout  wood,  my  right 
forefinger  trembled  against  thin  steel.  The 
I  sound  was  not  repeated.  And  at  length  I  con- 
tinued on  my  way  down,  my  teeth  set,  an  excuse 
j  on  my  lips,  but  determination  in  every  fibre  of 
my  frame. 

A  shadow  lay  across  the  kitchen  floor;  it  was 
that  of  the  deaf  mute,  as  he  stood  on  a  chair  be- 
fore the  fire,  supporting  himself  on  the  chimney- 

148 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

piece  with  one  puny  arm,  wtille  he  reached  over- 
head with  the  other.  I  stood  by  for  an  instant, 
glorying  In  the  thought  that  he  could  not  hear  me; 
the  next,  I  saw  what  it  was  he  was  reaching  up 
for — a  bell-mouthed  blunderbuss — and  I  knew 
the  little  devil  for  the  impostor  that  he  was. 

"You  touch  it,"  said  I,  "and  you'll  drop  dead 
on  that  hearth." 

He  pretended  not  to  hear  me,  but  he  heard  the 
click  of  the  splendid  spring  which  Messrs.  Deane 
and  Adams  had  put  into  that  early  revolver  of 
theirs,  and  he  could  not  have  come  down  much 
quicker  with  my  bullet  In  his  spine. 

"Now,  then,"  I  said,  "what  the  devil  do  you 
mean  by  shamming  deaf  and  dumb?" 

"I  niver  said  I  was  owt  o'  t'  sort,"  he  whim- 
pered, cowering  behind  the  chair  In  a  sullen 
ague. 

"But  you  acted  it,  and  I've  a  jolly  good  mind 
to  shoot  you  dead!"  (Remember,  I  was  so  weak 
myself  that  I  thought  my  arm  would  break  from 
presenting  my  five  chambers  and  my  ten-Inch  bar- 
rel; otherwise  I  should  be  sorry  to  relate  how  I 
bullied  that  mouse  of  a  man.)  "I  may  let  you 
off,"  I  continued,  "If  you  answer  questions. 
Where's  your  wife?" 

"Eh,  she'll  be  back  directly!"  said  Bralthwaite, 
149 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

with  some  tact;  but  his  look  was  too  ctinning  to 
give  the  warning  weight. 

"I've  a  bullet  to  spare  for  her,"  said  I,  cheer- 
fully; "now,  then,  where  is  she?" 

"Gone  wi'  the  oothers,  for  owt  I  knaw.** 
"And  where  are  the  others  gone?" 
"Where  they  alius  go,  ower  to  t'  say." 
"Over   to   the   sea,    eh?     We're   getting  on! 
What  takes  them  there?" 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  sir,"  said 
Braithwalte,  with  so  much  emphasis  and  so  little 
reluctance  as  to  convince  me  that  for  once  at  least 
he  had  spoken  the  truth.  There  was  even  a  spice 
of  malice  in  his  tone.  I  began  to  see  possibilities 
In  the  little  beast. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you're  a  nice  lotl  I  don't 
know  what  your  game  is,  and  don't  want  to.  I've 
had  enough  of  you  without  that.  I'm  off  to- 
night." 

"Before  they  get  back?"  asked  Braithwalte, 
plainly  in  doubt  about  his  duty,  and  yet  as  plainly 
relieved  to  learn  the  extent  of  my  intention. 

"Certainly,"  said  I;  "why  not?  I'm  not  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  see  your  wife  again,  and  you 
may  ask  Mr.  Rattray  from  me  why  the  devil  he 
led  me  to  suppose  you  were  deaf  and  dumb  ?  Or, 
if  you  like,  you  needn't  say  anything  at  all  about 

150 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

it,"  I  added,  seeing  his  thin  jaw  fall;  "tell  him  I 
never  found  you  out,  but  just  felt  well  enough  to 
go,  and  went.    When  do  you  expect  them  back?" 

"It  won't  be  yet  a  bit,"  said  he. 

"Good!  Now  look  here.  What  would  you 
say  to  these?"  And  I  showed  him  a  couple  of 
sovereigns :  I  longed  to  offer  him  twenty,  but 
feared  to  excite  his  suspicions.  "These  are  yours 
if  you  have  a  conveyance  at  the  end  of  the  lane — < 
the  lane  we  came  up  the  night  before  last — in  an 
hour's  time." 

His  dull  eyes  glistened;  but  a  tremor  took  him 
from  top  to  toe,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  ill,  man!"  I  cried.  "If  I  stay  here  I'll 
die !  Mr.  Rattray  knows  that,  and  he  wanted  me 
to  go  this  morning;  he'll  be  only  too  thankful  to 
find  me  gone." 

This  argument  appealed  to  him;  indeed,  I  was 
proud  of  it. 

"But  I  was  to  stop  an'  look  after  you,"  he 
mumbled;  "it'll  get  me  into  trooble,  it  will  that!" 

I  took  out  three  more  sovereigns;  not  a  penny 
higher  durst  I  go. 

"Will  five  pounds  repay  you?  No  need  to  tell 
your  wife  it  was  five,  you  know !  I  should  keep 
four  of  them  all  to  myself." 

The  cupidity  of  the  little  wretch  was  at  last 
151 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

overcoming  his  abject  cowardice.  I  could  see  him 
making  up  his  miserable  mind.  And  I  still  flatter 
myself  that  I  took  only  safe  (and  really  cunning) 
steps  to  precipitate  the  process.  To  offer  him 
more  money  would  have  been  madness;  instead, 
I  poured  it  all  back  into  my  pocket. 

"All  right!"  I  cried;  "you're  a  greedy,  cow- 
ardly, old  idiot,  and  I'll  just  save  my  money." 
And  out  I  marched  into  the  moonlight,  very 
briskly,  towards  the  lane;  he  was  so  quick  to  fol- 
low me  that  I  had  no  fears  of  the  blunderbuss,  but 
quickened  my  step,  and  soon  had  him  running  at 
my  heels. 

"Stop,  stop,  sir!  You're  that  hasty  wl'  a  poor 
owd  man."  So  he  whimpered  as  he  followed  me 
like  the  little  cur  he  was. 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  stop,"  I  answered  without 
looking  back;  and  had  him  almost  in  tears  before 
I  swung  round  on  him  so  suddenly  that  he  yelped 
with  fear.  "What  are  you  bothering  me  for?" 
I  blustered.  "Do  you  want  me  to  wring  your 
neck?" 

"Oh,  I'll  go,  sir!    I'll  go,  I'll  go,"  he  moaned. 

"I've  a  good  mind  not  to  let  you.  I  wouldn't 
if  I  was  fit  to  walk  five  miles." 

"But  I'll  roon  'em,  sir!  I  will  that!  I'll  go 
as  fast  as  iver  I  can!" 

152 


The  Longest  Day  of  My  Life 

"And  have  a  conveyance  at  the  road-end  of 
the  lane  as  near  an  hour  hence  as  you  possibly 
can?" 

"Why,  there,  sir!"  he  cried,   crassly  inspired; 
"I  could  drive  you  in  our  own  trap  in  half  the~ 
time." 

"Oh,  no,  you  couldn't!  I — I'm  not  fit  to  be 
out  at  all;  it  must  be  a  closed  conveyance;  but  I'll 
come  to  the  end  of  the  lane  to  save  time,  so  let 
him  wait  there.  You  needn't  wait  yourself;  here's 
a  sovereign  of  your  money,  and  I'll  leave  the  rest 
in  the  jug  in  my  bedroom.  There !  It's  worth 
your  while  to  trust  me,  I  think.  As  for  my  lug- 
gage, I'll  write  to  Mr.  Rattray  about  that.  But 
I'll  be  shot  if  I  spend  another  night  on  his 
propert)\" 

I  was  rid  of  him  at  last;  and  there  I  stood,  lis- 
tening to  his  headlong  steps,  until  they  stumbled  out 
of  earshot  down  the  lane;  then  back  to  the  cottage, 
at  a  run  myself,  and  up  to  my  room  to  be  no 
worse  than  my  word.  The  sovereigns  plopped 
into  the  water  and  rang  together  at  the  bottom 
of  the  jug.  In  another  minute  I  was  hastening 
through  the  plantation,  in  my  hand  the  revolver 
that  had  served  me  well  already,  and  was  still 
loaded  and  capped  in  all  five  chambers. 


153 


CHAPTER    XIV 

IN  THE  GARDEN 

IT  SO  happened  that  I  met  nobody  at  all;  but  I 
must  confess  that  my  luck  was  better  than  my 
management.  As  I  came  upon  the  beck,  a  new 
sound  reached  me  with  the  swirl.  It  was  the 
jingle  of  bit  and  bridle;  the  beat  of  hoofs  came 
after;  and  I  had  barely  time  to  fling  myself  flat, 
when  two  horsemen  emerged  from  the  plantation, 
riding  straight  towards  me  in  the  moonlight.  If 
they  continued  on  that  course  they  could  not  fail 
to  see  me  as  they  passed  along  the  opposite  bank. 
However,  to  my  unspeakable  relief,  they  were 
scarce  clear  of  the  trees  when  they  turned  their 
horses'  heads,  rode  them  through  the  water  a 
good  seventy  yards  from  where  I  lay,  and  so  away 
at  a  canter  across  country  towards  the  road.  On 
my  hands  and  knees  I  had  a  good  look  at  them 
as  they  bobbed  up  and  down  under  the  moon; 
and  my  fears  subsided  in  astonished  curiosity. 
For  I  have  already  boasted  of  my  eyesight,  and  I 
could  have  sworn  that  neither  Rattray  nor  any 
one  of  his  guests  was  of  the  horsemen;  yet  the 

154 


In  the  Garden 

back  and  shoulders  of  one  of  these  seemed  some- 
how familiar  to  me.  Not  that  I  wasted  many 
moments  over  the  coincidence,  for  I  had  other 
things  to  think  about  as  I  ran  on  to  the  hall. 

I  found  the  rear  of  the  building  in  darkness 
unrelieved  from  within;  on  the  other  hand,  the 
climbing  moon  beat  so  full  upon  the  garden  wall, 
it  was  as  though  a  lantern  pinned  me  as  I  crept 
beneath  it.  In  passing  I  thought  I  might  as  well 
try  the  gate;  but  Eva  was  right;  it  was  locked; 
and  that  made  me  half  inclined  to  distrust  my  eyes 
in  the  matter  of  the  two  horsemen,  for  whence 
could  they  have  come,  if  not  from  the  hall?  In 
any  case  I  was  well  rid  of  them.  I  now  followed 
the  wall  some  little  distance,  and  then,  to  see 
over  it,  walked  backwards  until  I  was  all  but  in 
the  beck;  and  there,  sure  enough,  shone  my  dar- 
ling's candle,  close  as  close  against  the  diamond 
panes  of  her  narrow,  lofty  window!  It  brought 
those  ready  tears  back  to  my  foolish,  fevered  eyes. 
But  for  sentiment  there  was  no  time,  and  every 
other  emotion  was  either  futile  or  premature.  So 
I  mastered  my  full  heart,  I  steeled  my  wretched 
nerves,  and  braced  my  limp  muscles  for  the  task 
that  lay  before  them. 

I  had  a  garden  wall  to  scale,  nearly  twice  my 
own  height,  and  without  notch  or  cranny  in  the 

155 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

ancient,  solid  masonry.  I  stood  against  it  on  my 
toes,  and  I  touched  it  with  my  finger-tips  as  high 
up  as  possible.  Some  four  feet  severed  them  from 
the  coping  that  left  only  half  a  sky  above  my 
upturned  eyes. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  made  it  plain 
that  the  house  was  not  surrounded  by  four  walls, 
but  merely  filled  a  breach  in  one  of  the  four,  which 
nipped  it  (as  it  were)  at  either  end.  The  back 
entrance  was  approachable  enough,  but  barred  or 
watched,  I  might  be  very  sure.  It  is  ever  the 
vulnerable  points  which  are  most  securely 
guarded,  and  it  was  my  one  comfort  that  the  diffi- 
cult way  must  also  be  the  safe  way,  if  only  the 
difficulty  could  be  overcome.  How  to  overcome 
it  was  the  problem.  I  followed  the  wall  right 
round  to  the  point  at  which  it  abutted  on  the  tower 
that  immured  my  love;  the  height  never  varied; 
nor  could  my  hands  or  eyes  discover  a  single  foot- 
hole,  ledge,  or  other  means  of  mounting  to  the 
top. 

Yet  my  hot  head  was  full  of  ideas;  and  I 
wasted  some  minutes  in  trying  to  lift  from  its 
hinges  a  solid,  six-barred,  outlying  gate,  that  my 
weak  arms  could  hardly  stir.  More  time  went  in 
pulling  branches  from  the  oak-trees  about  the 
beck,  where  the  latter  ran  nearest  to  the  moonlit 

156 


In  the  Garden 

wall.  I  had  an  insane  dream  of  throwing  a  long 
forked  branch  over  the  coping,  and  so  swarming 
up  hand-over-hand.  But  even  to  me  the  imprac- 
ticability of  this  plan  came  home  at  last.  And 
there  I  stood  in  a  breathless  lather,  much  time  and 
strength  thrown  away  together;  and  the  candle 
burning  down  for  nothing  in  that  little  lofty  win- 
dow; and  the  running  water  swirling  noisily  over 
its  stones  at  my  back. 

This  was  the  only  sound;  the  wind  had  died 
away;  the  moonlit  valley  lay  as  still  as  the  dread 
old  house  in  its  midst  but  for  the  splash  and  gur- 
gle of  the  beck.  I  fancied  this  grew  louder  as  I 
paused  and  listened  in  my  helplessness.  All  at 
once — was  it  the  tongue  of  Nature  telling  me  the 
way,  or  common  gumption  returning  at  the 
eleventh  hour?  I  ran  down  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  could  have  shouted  for  joy.  Great  stones  lay 
In  equal  profusion  on  bed  and  banks.  I  lifted 
one  of  the  heaviest  in  both  hands.  I  staggered 
with  it  to  the  wall.  I  came  back  for  another; 
for  some  twenty  minutes  I  was  so  employed;  my 
ultimate  reward  a  fine  heap  of  boulders  against 
the  wall. 

Then  I  began  to  build;  then  mounted  my  pile, 
clawing  the  wall  to  keep  my  balance.  My  fingers 
were  still  many  inches  from  the  coping.     I  jumped 

157 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

down  and  gave  another  ten  minutes  to  the  back- 
breaking  work  of  carrying  more  boulders  from 
the  water  to  the  wall.  Then  I  widened  my  cairn 
below,  so  that  I  could  stand  firmly  before  spring- 
ing upon  the  pinnacle  with  which  I  completed  it. 
I  knew  well  that  this  would  collapse  under  me 
if  I  allowed  my  weight  to  rest  more  than  an 
instant  upon  it.  And  so  at  last  it  did;  but  my  fin- 
gers had  clutched  the  coping  in  time;  had  grabbed 
it  even  as  the  insecure  pyramid  crumbled  and  left 
me  dangling. 

Instantly  exerting  what  muscle  I  had  left,  and 
the  occasion  gave  me,  I  succeeded  in  pulling  my- 
self up  until  my  chin  was  on  a  level  with  my 
hands,  when  I  flung  an  arm  over  and  caught  the 
inner  coping.  The  other  arm  followed;  then  a 
leg;  and  at  last  I  sat  astride  the  wall,  panting  and 
palpitating,  and  hardly  able  to  credit  my  own 
achievement.  One  great  difficulty  had  been  my 
huge  revolver.  I  had  been  terribly  frightened  it 
might  go  off,  and  had  finally  used  my  cravat  to 
sling  It  at  the  back  of  my  neck.  It  had  shifted  a 
little,  and  I  was  working  it  round  again,  prepara- 
tory to  my  drop,  when  I  saw  the  light  suddenly 
taken  from  the  window  in  the  tower,  and  a  ker- 
chief waving  for  one  instant  in  its  place.  So  she 
had  been  waiting  and  watching  for  me  all  these 

158 


In  the  Garden 

hours !  I  dropped  into  the  garden  In  a  very 
ecstasy  of  grief  and  rapture,  to  think  that  I  had 
been  so  long  In  coming  to  my  love,  but  that  I  had 
come  at  last.  And  I  picked  myself  up  In  a  very 
frenzy  of  fear  lest,  after  all,  I  should  fall  to  spirit 
her  from  this  horrible  place. 

Doubly  desolate  It  looked  in  the  rays  of  that 
bright  October  moon.  Skulking  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wall  which  had  so  long  baffled  me,  I  looked 
across  a  sharp  border  of  shade  upon  a  chaos,  the 
more  striking  for  its  lingering  trim  design.  The 
long,  straight  paths  were  barnacled  with  weeds; 
the  dense,  fine  hedges,  once  prim  and  angular, 
had  fattened  out  of  all  shape  or  form;  and  on  the 
velvet  sward  of  other  days  you  might  have  waded 
waist  high  In  rotten  hay.  Towards  the  garden 
end  this  rank  jungle  merged  Into  a  worse  wilder- 
ness of  rhododendrons,  the  tallest  I  have  ever 
seen.  On  all  this  the  white  moon  smiled,  and  the 
grim  house  glowered,  to  the  eternal  swirl  and  rat- 
tle of  the  beck  beyond  Its  walls. 

Long  enough  I  stood  where  I  had  dropped, 
listening  with  all  my  being  for  some  other  sound; 
but  at  last  that  great  studded  door  creaked 
and  shivered  on  Its  ancient  hinges,  and  I  heard 
voices  arguing  In  the  Portuguese  tongue.  It  was 
poor  Eva  wheedling  that  black  rascal  Jose.      I 

159 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

saw  her  in  the  lighted  porch;  the  nigger  I  saw 
also,  shrugging  and  gesticulating  for  all  the  world 
like  his  hateful  master;  yet  giving  in,  I  felt  cer- 
tain, though  I  could  not  understand  a  word  that 
i  reached  me. 

And  indeed  my  little  mistress  very  soon  sailed 
calmly  out,  followed  by  final  warnings  and  expos- 
tulations hurled  from  the  step :  for  the  black  stood 
watching  her  as  she  came  steadily  my  way,  now 
raising  her  head  to  sniff  the  air,  now  stooping  to 
pluck  up  a  weed,  the  very  picture  of  a  prisoner 
seeking  the  open  air  for  its  own  sake  solely.  I 
had  a  keen  eye  apiece  for  them  as  I  cowered  closer 
to  the  wall,  revolver  in  hand.  But  ere  my  love 
was  very  near  me  (for  she  would  stand  long 
moments  gazing  ever  so  innocently  at  the  moon) , 
her  jailer  had  held  a  bottle  to  the  light,  and  had 
beaten  a  retreat  so  sudden  and  so  hasty  that  I 
expected  him  back  every  moment,  and  so  durst 
not  stir.  Eva  saw  me,  however,  and  contrived 
to  tell  me  so  without  interrupting  the  air  that 
she  was  humming  as  she  walked. 

"Follow  me,"  she  sang,  "only  keep  as  you  are, 
keep  as  you  are,  close  to  the  wall,  close  to  the 
wall." 

And  on  she  strolled  to  her  own  tune,  and  came 
abreast   of  me   without   turning  her   head;    so   I 

i6o 


In  the  Garden 

crept  in  the  shadow  (my  ugly  weapon  tucked  out 
of  sight) ,  and  she  sauntered  in  the  shine,  until  we 
came  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  where  the  path 
turned  at  right  angles,  running  behind  the  rhodo- 
dendrons; once  in  their  shelter,  she  halted  and 
beckoned  me,  and  next  instant  I  had  her  hands 
in  mine. 

"At  last!"  was  all  that  I  could  say  for  many 
a  nioment,  as  I  stood  there  gazing  into  her  dear 
eyes,  no  hero  in  my  heroic  hour,  but  the  bigger 
love-sick  fool  than  ever.  "But  quick — quick — 
quiclc!"  I  added,  as  she  brought  me  to  my  senses 
by  withdrawing  her  hands.  "We've  no  time  to 
lose."  And  I  looked  wildly  from  wall  to  wall, 
only  to  find  them  as  barren  and  inaccessible  on  this 
side  as  on  the  other. 

"We  have  more  time  than  you  think,"  were 
Eva's  first  words.  "We  can  do  nothing  for  half- 
an-hour." 

"Why  not?" 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.  How  did  you  man- 
age to  get  over?" 

"Brought  boulders  from  the  beck,  and  piled 
'em  up  till  I  could  reach  the  top." 

I  thought  her  eyes  glistened. 

"What  patience !"  she  cried  softly.  "We  must 
find  a  simpler  way  of  getting  out — and  I  think 

i6i 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  have.  They've  all  gone,  you  know,  but 
Jose." 

"All  three?" 

"The  captain  has  been  gone  all  day." 

Then  the  other  two  must  have  been  my  horse- 
men, very  probably  In  some  disguise ;  and  my  head 
swam  with  the  thought  of  the  risk  that  I  had  run 
at  the  very  moment  when  I  thought  myself  safest. 
Well,  I  would  have  finished  them  both!  But  I 
did  not  say  so  to  Eva.  I  did  not  mention  the  in- 
cident, I  was  so  fearful  of  destroying  her  confi- 
dence in  me.  Apologizing,  therefore,  for  my  in- 
terruption, without  explaining  it,  I  begged  her  to 
let  me  hear  her  plan. 

It  was  simple  enough.  There  was  no  fear  of 
the  others  returning  before  midnight;  the  chances 
were  that  they  would  be  very  much  later ;  and  now 
it  was  barely  eleven,  and  Eva  had  promised  not 
to  stay  out  above  half-an-hour.  When  it  was  up 
Jose  would  come  and  call  her. 

"It  is  horrid  to  have  to  be  so  cunning!"  cried 
little  Eva,  with  an  angry  shudder;  "but  it's  no  use 
thinking  of  that,"  she  was  quick  enough  to  add, 
"when  you  have  such  dreadful  men  to  deal  with, 
such  fiends!  And  I  have  had  all  day  to  prepare, 
and  have  suffered  till  I  am  so  desperate  I  would 
rather   die   to-night   than   spend   another   in   that 

162 


In  the  Garden 

house.  No;  let  me  finish!  Jose  will  come  round 
here  to  look  for  me.  But  you  and  I  will  be  hiding 
on  the  other  side  of  these  rhododendrons.  And 
when  we  hear  him  here  we'll  make  a  dash  for  it 
across  the  long  grass.  Once  let  us  get  the  door 
shut  and  locked  in  his  face,  and  he'll  be  in  a  trap. 
It  will  take  him  some  time  to  break  in;  time 
enough  to  give  us  a  start;  what's  more,  when  he 
finds  us  gone,  he'll  do  what  they  all  used  to  do 
in  any  doubt." 

"What's  that?" 

"Say  nothing  till  it's  found  out;  then  lie  for 
their  lives;  and  it  zvas  their  lives,  poor  creatures 
on  the  Zambesi !"  She  was  silent  a  moment,  her 
determined  little  face  hard-set  upon  some  unfor- 
gotten  horror.  "Once  we  get  away,  I  shall  be 
surprised  if  it's  found  out  till  morning,"  concluded 
Eva,  without  a  word  as  to  what  I  was  to  do  with 
her;  neither,  indeed,  had  I  myself  given  that  ques- 
tion a  moment's  consideration. 

"Then  let's  make  a  dash  for  it  now !"  was  all  I 
said  or  thought. 

"No;  they  can't  come  yet,  and  Jose  is  strong 
and  brutal,  and  I  have  heard  how  ill  you  are. 
That  you  should  have  come  to  me  notwithstand- 
ing  "  and  she  broke  off  with  her  little  hands 

lying  so  gratefully  on  my  shoulders,  that  I  know 

163 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

not  how  I  refrained  from  catching  her  then  and 
there  to  my  heart.  Instead,  I  laughed  and  said 
that  my  Illness  was  a  pure  and  deliberate  sham, 
and  ray  presence  there  Its  direct  result.  And  such 
was  the  virtue  in  my  beloved's  voice,  the  magic 
/  of  her  eyes,  the  healing  of  her  touch,  that  I  was 
scarce  conscious  of  deceit,  but  felt  a  whole  man 
once  more  as  we  two  stood  together  in  the  moon- 
light. 

In  a  trance  I  stood  there  gazing  into  her  brave 
young  eyes.  In  a  trance  I  suffered  her  to  lead  me 
by  the  hand  through  the  rank,  dense  rhododen- 
drons. And  still  entranced  I  crouched  by  her  side 
near  the  further  side,  with  only  unkempt  grass- 
plot  and  a  weedy  path  between  us  and  that  pon- 
derous door,  wide  open  still,  and  replaced  by  a 
section  of  the  lighted  hall  within.  On  this  we 
fixed  our  attention  with  m.Ingled  dread  and  im- 
patience, those  contending  elements  of  suspense; 
but  the  black  was  slow  to  reappear;  and  my  eyes 
stole  home  to  my  sweet  girl's  face,  with  its  glory 
of  moonlit  curls,  and  the  eager,  resolute,  embit- 
tered look  that  put  the  world  back  two  v/hole 
m.onths,  and  Eva  Denison  upon  the  Lady 
Jermyn's  poop,  in  the  ship's  last  hours.  But  it 
was  not  her  look  alone;  she  had  on  her  cloak,  as 
the  night  before,  but  with  me   (God  bless  her!) 

164 


In  the  Garden 

she  found  no  need  to  clasp  herself  In  Its  folds; 
and  underneath  she  wore  the  very  dress  In  which 
she  had  sung  at  our  last  concert,  and  been  rescued 
in  the  gig.  It  looked  as  though  she  had  worn  It 
ever  since.  The  roses  were  crushed  and  soiled, 
the  tulle  all  torn,  and  tarnished  some  strings  of 
beads  that  had  been  gold :  a  tatter  of  ChantUly  lace 
hung  by  a  thread :  It  Is  another  of  the  relics  that  I 
have  unearthed  In  the  writing  of  this  narrative. 

"I  thought  men  never  noticed  dresses?"  my 
love  said  suddenly,  a  pleased  light  In  her  eyes  (I 
thought)  In  spite  of  all.  "Do  you  really  remem- 
ber it?" 

"I  remember  every  one  of  them,"  I  said  Indig- 
nantly; and  so  I  did. 

"You  will  wonder  why  I  wear  It,"  said  Eva, 
quickly.  "It  was  the  first  that  came  that  terrible 
night.  They  have  given  me  many  since.  But  I 
won't  wear  one  of  them — not  one!" 

How  her  eyes  flashed !     I  forgot  all  about  Jose. 

"I  suppose  you  know  why  they  hadn't  room 
for  you  in  the  gig?"  she  went  on. 

"No,  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care.  They 
had  room  for  you^  said  I;  "that's  all  I  care 
about."  And  to  think  she  could  not  see  I  loved  her ! 

"But  do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  that 
these — murderers — set  fire  to  the  ship?" 

165 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"No — yes!  I  heard  you  say  so  last  night." 

"And  you  don't  want  to  know  what  for?" 

Out  of  politeness  I  protested  that  I  did;  but,  as  I 
live,  all  I  wanted  to  know  just  then  was  whether 
my  love  loved  me — whether  she  ever  could — 
whether  such  happiness  was  possible  under  heaven  ! 

"You  remember  all  that  mystery  about  the 
cargo?"  she  continued  eagerly,  her  pretty  lips  so 
divinely  parted! 

"It  turned  out  to  be  gunpowder,"  said  I,  still 
thinking  only  of  her. 

"No— gold!" 

"But  it  was  gunpowder,"  I  insisted;  for  it  was 
my  incorrigible  passion  for  accuracy  which  had 
led  up  to  half  our  arguments  on  the  voyage;  but 
this  time  Eva  let  me  off. 

"It  was  also  gold:  twelve  thousand  ounces  from 
the  diggings.  That  was  the  real  mystery.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  never  guessed?" 

"No,  by  Jove  I  didn't!"  said  I.  She  had 
diverted  my  interest  at  last.  I  asked  her  if  she  had 
known  on  board. 

"Not  until  the  last  moment.  I  found  out  dur- 
ing the  fire.  Do  you  remember  when  we  said 
good-by?     I  was  nearly  telling  you  then." 

Did  I  remember!  The  very  letter  of  that  last 
interview  was  cut  deep  in  my  heart;  not  a  sleep- 

i66 


In  the  Garden 

less  night  had  I  passed  without  rehearsing  it  word 
for  word  and  look  for  look;  and  sometimes,  when 
sorrow  had  spent  itself,  and  the  heart  could  bleed 
no  more,  vain  grief  had  given  place  to  vainer 
speculation,  and  I  had  cudgelled  my  wakeful 
brains  for  the  meaning  of  the  new  and  subtle 
horror  which  I  had  read  in  my  darling's  eyes  at 
the  .last.  Now  I  understood;  and  the  one  explana- 
tion brought  such  a  tribe  in  its  train,  that  even  the 
perilous  ecstasy  of  the  present  moment  was  tem- 
porarily forgotten  in  the  horrible  past. 

"Now  I  know  why  they  wouldn't  have  me  in 
the  gig!"  I  cried  softly. 

"She  carried  four  heavy  men's  weight  in  gold." 

"When  on  earth  did  they  get  it  aboard?'^ 

"In  provision  boxes  at  the  last;  but  they  had 
been  filling  the  boxes  for  weeks." 

"Why,  I  saw  them  doing  it!"  I  cried.  "But 
what  about  the  gig?     Who  picked  you  up?" 

She  was  watching  that  open  door  once  more, 
and  she  answered  with  notable  indifference,  "Mr. 
Rattray." 

"So  that's  the  connection!"  said  I;  and  I  think 
its  very  simplicity  was  what  surprised  me  most. 

"Yes;  he  was  waiting  for  us  at  Ascension." 

"Then  it  was  all  arranged?" 

"Every  detail." 

167 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"And  this  young  blackguard  is  as  bad  as  any  of 
them!" 

"Worse,"  said  she,  with  bitter  brevity.  Nor 
had  I  ever  seen  her  look  so  hard  but  once,  and 
that  was  the  night  before  In  the  old  justice  hall, 
when  she  told  Rattray  her  opinion  of  him  to  his 
face.  She  had  now  the  same  angry  flush,  the  same 
set  mouth  and  scornful  voice ;  and  I  took  It  finally 
Into  my  head  that  she  was  unjust  to  the  poor  devil, 
villain  though  he  was.  With  all  his  villainy  I  de- 
clined to  believe  him  as  bad  as  the  others.  I  told 
her  so  In  as  many  words.  And  In  a  moment  we 
were  arguing  as  though  we  were  back  on  the  Lady 
Jermyn  with  nothing  else  to  do. 

"You  may  admire  wholesale  murderers  and 
thieves,"  said  Eva.     "I  do  not." 

"Nor  I.  My  point  Is  simply  that  this  one  is 
not  as  bad  as  the  rest.  I  believe  he  was  really 
glad  for  my  sake  when  he  discovered  that  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  villainy.  Come  now,  has  he  ever 
offered  you  any  personal  violence?" 

"Me?  Mr.  Rattray?  I  should  hope  not,  in- 
deed!" 

"Has  he  never  saved  you  from  any?" 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"Then  I  do.  When  you  left  them  last  night 
there  s/as  some  talk  of  bringing  you  back  by  force. 

i68 


In  the  Garden 

You  can  guess  who  suggested  that — and  who  set 
his  face  against  it  and  got  his  way.  You  would 
think  the  better  of  Rattray  had  you  heard  what 
passed." 

"Should  I?"  she  asked  half  eagerly,  as  she 
looked  quickly  round  at  me;  and  suddenly  I  saw 
her  eyes  fill.  "Oh,  why  will  you  speak  about 
him  ?"  ^he  burst  out.  "Why  must  you  defend  him, 
unless  it's  to  go  against  me,  as  you  always  did  and 
always  will !  I  never  knew  anybody  like  you — > 
never!  I  want  you  to  take  me  away  from  these 
wretches,  and  all  you  do  is  to  defend  them!" 

"Not  all,"  said  I,  clasping  her  hand  warmly  In 
mine.  "Not  all — not  all !  I  will  take  you  away 
from  them,  never  fear;  in  anv)ther  hour  God  grant 
you  may  be  out  of  their  reacr.  for  ever !" 

"But  where  are  we  to  |.o?"  she  whispered 
wildly.  "What  are  you  to  dc  with  me?  All  my 
friends  think  me  dead,  and  if  they  knew  I  was 
not  It  would  all  come  out." 

"So  it  shall,"  said  I;  "the  sooner  the  better;  If 
I'd  had  my  way  It  would  all  be  out  already." 

I  see  her  yet,  my  passionate  darling,  as  she 
turned  upon  me,  whiter  than  the  full  white  moon. 

"Mr.  Cole,"  said  she,  "you  must  give  me  your 
sacred  promise  that  so  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
it  shall  never  come  out  at  all!" 

169 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"This  monstrous  conspiracy?  This  cold- 
blooded massacre?" 

And  I  crouched  aghast. 

"Yes;  it  could  do  no  good;  and,  at  any  rate, 
unless  you  promise  I  remain  where  I  am." 

"In  their  hands?" 

"Decidedly — to  warn  them  in  time.  Leave 
them  I  would,  but  betray  them — never!" 

What  could  I  say?  What  choice  had  I  in  the 
face  of  an  alternative  so  headstrong  and  so  un- 
reasonable? To  rescue  Eva  from  these  miscre- 
ants I  would  have  let  every  malefactor  in  the  coun- 
try go  unscathed:  yet  the  condition  was  a  hard 
one ;  and,  as  I  hesitated,  my  love  went  on  her  knees 
to  me,  there  in  the  moonlight  among  the  rhodo- 
dendrons. 

"Promise — promise — or  you  will  kill  me !"  she 
gasped.  "They  may  deserve  it  richly,  but  I  would 
rather  be  torn  in  little  pieces  than — than  have 
them — hanged !" 

"It  is  too  good  for  most  of  them." 

"Promise!" 

"To  hold  my  tongue  about  them  all?" 

"Yes — promise!" 

"But,  Eva " 

"Promise!" 

"When  a  hundred  lives  were  sacrificed " 

170 


In  the  Garden 

"Promise!" 

"I  can't,"  I  said.    "It's  wrong." 
"Then    good-by!"    she   cried,    starting  to   her 
feet. 

"No — no — "  and  I  caught  her  hand. 
"Well,  then?" 
"I — promise." 


?7r 


CHAPTER   XV 

FIRST   BLOOD 

SO  I  bound  myself  to  a  guilty  secrecy  for  Eva's 
sake,  to  save  her  from  these  wretches,  or  if 
you  will,  to  win  her  for  myself.  Nor  did  it  strike 
me  as  very  strange,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
that  she  should  intercede  thus  earnestly  for  a  band 
headed  by  her  own  mother's  widower,  prime 
scoundrel  of  them  all  though  she  knew  him  to  be. 
The  only  surprise  was  that  she  had  not  interceded 
in  his  name;  that  I  should  have  forgotten,  and 
she  should  have  allowed  me  to  forget,  the  very 
existence  of  so  indisputable  a  claim  upon  her 
loyalty.  This,  however,  made  it  a  little  difficult 
to  understand  the  hysterical  gratitude  with  which 
my  unwilling  promise  was  received.  Poor  dar- 
ling !  she  was  beside  herself  with  sheer  relief.  She 
wept  as  I  had  never  seen  her  weep  before.  She 
seized  and  even  kissed  my  hands,  as  one  who 
neither  knew  nor  cared  what  she  did,  surprising  me 
so  much  by  her  emotion  that  this  expression  of  it 
passed  unheeded.  I  was  the  best  friend  she  had 
ever  had.     I  was  her  one  good  friend  in  all  the 

272 


First  Blood 

world;  she  would  trust  herself  to  me;  and  If  I 
would  but  take  her  to  the  convent  where  she  had 
been  brought  up,  she  would  pray  for  me  there  until 
her  death,  but  that  would  not  be  very  long. 

All  of  which  confused  me  utterly;  It  seemed  an 
Inexplicable  breakdown  In  one  who  had  shown 
such  nerve  and  courage  hitherto,  and  so  hearty  a 
loathing  for  that  damnable  Santos.  So  completely 
had  her  presence  of  mind  forsaken  her  that  she 
looked  no  longer  where  she  had  been  gazing 
hitherto.  And  thus  It  was  that  neither  of  us  saw 
Jose  until  we  heard  him  calling,  "Senhora  Evah ! 
Senhora  Evah!"  with  some  rapid  sentences  la 
Portuguese. 

"Now  Is  our  time,"  I  whispered,  crouching 
lower  and  clasping  a  small  hand  gone  suddenly 
cold.  "Think  of  nothing  now  but  getting  out  of 
this.  I'll  keep  my  word  once  we  are  out;  and 
here's  the  toy  that's  going  to  get  us  out."  And 
I  produced  my  Deane  and  Adams  with  no  small 
relish. 

A  little  trustful  pressure  was  my  answer  and 
my  reward;  meanwhile  the  black  was  singing  out 
lustily  In  evident  suspicion  and  alarm. 

"He  says  they  are  coming  back,"  whispered 
Eva;  "but  that's  Impossible." 

"Why?" 

173 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"Because  if  they  were  he  couldn't  see  them,  and 
if  he  heard  them  he  would  be  frightened  of  their 
hearing  him.     But  here  he  comes!" 

A  shuffling  quick  step  on  the  path;  a  running 
grumble  of  unmistakable  threats;  a  shambling 
moonlit  figure  seen  in  glimpses  through  the  leaves, 
very  near  us  for  an  instant,  then  hidden  by  the 
shrubbery  as  he  passed  within  a  few  yards  of  our 
hiding-place.  A  diminuendo  of  the  shuffling  steps; 
then  a  cursing,  frightened  savage  at  one  end  of 
the  rhododendrons,  and  we  two  stealing  out  at  the 
other,  hand  in  hand,  and  bent  quite  double,  into 
the  long  neglected  grass. 

"Can  you  run  for  it?"  I  whispered. 

"Yes,  but  not  too  fast,  for  fear  we  trip." 

"Come  on,  then !" 

The  lighted  open  doorway  grew  greater  at 
every  stride. 

"He  hasn't  seen  us  yet " 

"No,  I  hear  him  threatening  me  still." 

"Now  he  has,  though!" 

A  wild  w^hoop  proclaimed  the  fact,  and  upright 
we  tore  at  top  speed  through  the  last  ten  yards 
of  grass,  while  the  black  rushed  down  one  of  the 
side  paths,  gaining  audibly  on  us  over  the  better 
ground.  But  our  start  had  saved  us,  and  we  flew 
up  the  steps  as  his  feet  ceased  to  clatter  on  the 

174 


First  Blood 

path;  he  had  plunged  into  the  grass  to  cut  off 
the  corner. 

"Thank  God!"  cried  Eva.  "Now  shut  it 
quick." 

The  great  door  swung  home  with  a  mighty 
clatter,  and  Eva  seized  the  key  in  both  hands. 

"I  can't  turn  it!" 

.To  lose  a  second  was  to  take  a  life,  and  uncon- 
sciously I  was  sticking  at  that,  perhaps  from  no 
higher  instinct  than  distrust  of  my  aim.  Our 
pursuer,  however,  was  on  the  steps  when  I  clapped 
my  free  hand  on  top  of  those  little  white  straining 
ones,  and  by  a  timely  effort  bent  both  them  and 
the  key  round  together;  the  ward  shot  home  as 
Jose  hurled  himself  against  the  door.  Eva  bolted 
it.  But  the  thud  was  not  repeated,  and  I  gathered 
myself  together  between  the  door  and  the  nearest 
window,  for  by  now  I  saw  there  was  but  one  thing 
for  us.  The  nigger  must  be  disabled,  if  I  could 
manage  such  a  nicety;  if  not,  the  devil  take  his 
own. 

Well,  I  was  not  one  tick  too  soon  for  him.  My 
pistol  was  not  cocked  before  the  crash  came 
that  I  was  counting  on,  and  with  it  a  shower  of 
small  glass  driving  across  the  six-foot  sill  and 
tinkling  on  the  flags.  Next  came  a  black  and 
bloody  face,  at  which  I  could  not  fire.     I  had  to 

175 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

wait  till  I  saw  his  legs,  when  I  promptly  shattered 
one  of  them  at  disgracefully  short  range.  The 
report  was  as  deafening  as  one  upon  the  stage;  the 
hall  filled  with  white  smoke,  and  remained  hideous 
with  the  bellowing  of  my  victim.  I  searched  him 
"without  a  qualm,  but  threats  of  annihilation  in- 
stead, and  found  him  unarmed  but  for  that  very 
knife  which  Rattray  had  induced  me  to  hand  over 
to  him  in  town.  I  had  a  grim  satisfaction  in  de- 
priving him  of  this,  and  but  small  compunction 
in  turning  my  back  upon  his  pain. 

"Come,"  I  said  to  poor  Eva,  "don't  pity  him, 
though  I  daresay  he's  the  most  pitiable  of  the  lot; 
show  me  the  way  through,  and  I'll  follow  with 
this  lamp." 

One  was  burning  on  the  old  oak  table.  I  car- 
ried it  along  a  narrow  passage,  through  a  great 
low  kitchen  where  I  bumped  my  head  against  the 
black  oak  beams;  and  I  held  it  on  high  at  a  door 
almost  as  massive  as  the  one  which  we  had  suc- 
ceeded in  shutting  in  the  nigger's  face. 

"I  was  afraid  of  It!"  cried  Eva,  with  a  sud- 
den sob. 

"What  is  it?" 

"They've  taken  away  the  key!" 

Yes,  the  keen  air  came  through  an  empty  key- 
hole; and  my  lamp,  held  close,  not  only  showed 

176 


First  Blood 

us  that  the  door  was  locked,  but  that  the  lock  was 
one  with  which  an  unskilled  hand  might  tamper 
for  hours  without  result.  I  dealt  it  a  hearty  kick 
by  way  of  a  test.  The  heavy  timber  did  not 
budge;  there  was  no  play  at  all  at  either  lock  or 
hinges;  nor  did  I  see  how  I  could  spend  one  of 
my  four  remaining  bullets  upon  the  former,  with 
any  chance  of  a  return. 

"Is  this  the  only  other  door?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  must  be  a  window." 

"All  the  back  ones  are  barred." 

"Securely?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  we've  no  choice  In  the  matter." 

And  I  led  the  way  back  to  the  hall,  where  the 
poor  black  devil  lay  blubbering  in  his  blood.  In 
the  kitchen  I  found  the  bottle  of  wine  (Rattray's 
best  port,  that  they  were  trying  to  make  her  take 
for  her  health)  with  which  Eva  had  bribed  him, 
and  I  gave  it  to  him  before  laying  hands  on  a 
couple  of  chairs. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Go  out  the  way  we  came." 

"But  the  wall?" 

"Pile  up  these  chairs,  and  as  many  more  as  we 
may  need.  If  we  can't  open  the  gate." 

177 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

But  Eva  was  not  paying  attention  any  longer, 
either  to  me  or  to  Jose;  his  white  teeth  were  show- 
ing in  a  grin  for  all  his  pain;  her  eyes  were  fixed 
in  horror  on  the  floor. 

"They've  come  back,"  she  gasped.  "The  un- 
derground passage!     Hark — hark!" 

There  was  a  muffled  rush  of  feet  beneath  our 
own,  then  a  dull  but  very  distinguishable  clatter 
on  some  Invisible  stair. 

"Underground  passage!"  I  exclaimed,  and  in 
my  sheer  disgust  I  forgot  what  was  due  to  my 
darling.  "Why  on  earth  didn't  you  tell  me  of  it 
before?" 

"There  was  so  much  to  tell  you !  It  leads  to 
the  sea.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?  You  must 
hide — upstairs — anywhere!"  cried  Eva,  wildly. 
"Leave  them  to  me — leave  them  to  me." 

"I  like  that,"  said  I;  and  I  did;  but  I  detested 
myself  for  the  tears  my  words  had  drawn,  and 
I  prepared  to  die  for  them. 

"They'll  kill  you,  Mr.  Cole !" 

"It  would  serve  me  right;  but  we'll  see  about 
it." 

And  I  stood  with  my  revolver  very  ready  in 
my  right  hand,  while  with  the  other  I  caught  poor 
Eva  to  my  side,  even  as  a  door  flew  open,  and 
Rattray  himself  burst  upon  us,  a  lantern  In  his 

178 


First  Blood 

hand,  and  the  perspiration  shining  on  his  hand- 
some face  In  its  hght. 

I  can  see  him  now  as  he  stood  dumfounded  on 
the  threshold  of  the  hall;  and  yet,  at  the  time, 
my  eyes  sped  past  him  into  the  room  beyond. 

It  was  the  one  I  have  described  as  being  lined 
with  books;  there  was  a  long  rent  in  this  lining, 
where  the  books  had  opened  with  a  door,  through 
which  Captain  Harris,  Joaquin  Santos,  and  Jane 
Braithwalte  followed  Rattray  in  quick  succession, 
the  men  all  with  lanterns,  the  woman  scarlet  and 
dishevelled  even  for  her.  It  was  over  the  squire's 
shoulders  I  saw  their  faces;  he  kept  them  from 
passing  him  in  the  doorway  by  a  free  use  of  his 
elbows ;  and  when  I  looked  at  him  again,  his  black 
eyes  were  blazing  from  a  face  white  with  passion, 
and  they  were  fixed  upon  me. 

"What  the  devil  brings  you  here?"  he  thun- 
dered at  last. 

"Don't  ask  idle  questions,"  was  my  reply  to  that. 

"So  you  were  shamming  to-day!" 

"I  was  taking  a  leaf  out  of  your  book." 

"You'll  gain  nothing  by  being  clever!"  sneered 
the  squire,  taking  a  threatening  step  forward. 
For  at  the  last  moment  I  had  tucked  my  revolver 
behind  my  back,  not  only  for  the  pleasure,  but 
for  the  obvious  advantage  of  getting  them  all  in 

179 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

front  of  me  and  off  their  guard.  I  had  no  Idea 
that  such  eyes  as  Rattray's  could  be  so  fierce:  they 
were  dancing  from  me  to  my  companion,  whom 
their  glitter  frightened  into  an  attempt  to  disen- 
gage herself  from  me;  but  my  arm  only  tightened 
about  her  drooping  figure. 

"I  shall  gain  no  more  than  I  expect,"  said  I, 
carelessly.  "And  I  know  what  to  expect  from 
brave  gentlemen  like  you !  It  will  be  better  than 
your  own  fate,  at  all  events;  anything's  better  than 
being  taken  hence  to  the  place  of  execution,  and 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  you're  dead,  all  three  of 
you  in  a  row,  and  your  bodies  buried  within  the 
precincts  of  the  prison !" 

"The  very  thing  for  him,"  murmured  Santos. 
"The — very — theeng !" 

"But  I'm  so  soft-hearted,"  I  went  insanely  on, 
"that  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  that  happen  to  such 
fine  fellows  as  you  are.  Come  out  of  that,  you 
little  fraud  behind  there !"  It  was  my  betrayer 
skulking  in  the  room.  "Come  out  and  line  up 
with  the  rest!  No,  I'm  not  going  to  see  you  fel- 
lows dance  on  nothing;  I've  another  kind  of  ball 
apiece  for  you,  and  one  between  'em  for  the 
Braithwaites !" 

WcU,  I  suppose  I  always  had  a  nasty  tongue 
in  me,  and  rather  enjoyed  making  play  with  It 

i8o 


First  Blood 

on  provocation;  but,  If  so,  I  met  with  my  deserts 
that  night.  For  the  nigger  of  the  Lady  Jermyn 
lay  all  but  hid  behind  Eva  and  me;  if  they  saw 
him  at  all,  they  may  have  thought  him  drunk; 
but,  as  for  myself,  I  had  fairly  forgotten  his  ex- 
istence until  the  very  moment  came  for  showing 
my  revolver,  when  it  was  twisted  out  of  my  grasp 
instead,  and  a  ball  sang  under  my  arm  as  the  brute 
fell  back  exhausted  and  the  weapon  clattered  be- 
side him.  Before  I  could  stoop  for  it  there  was 
a  dead  weight  on  my  left  arm,  and  Squire  Rattray 
was  over  the  table  at  a  bound,  with  his  arms 
jostling  mine  beneath  Eva  Denison's  senseless 
form. 

"Leave  her  to  me,"  he  cried  fiercely.  "You 
fool,"  he  added  in  a  lower  key,  "do  you  think 
I'd  let  any  harm  come  to  her?" 

I  looked  him  in  the  bright  and  honest  eyes  that 
had  made  me  trust  him  in  the  beginning.  And 
I  did  not  utterly  distrust  him  yet.  Rather  was 
the  guile  on  my  side  as  I  drew  back  and  watched 
Rattray  lift  the  young  girl  tenderly,  and  slowly 
carry  her  to  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered 
and  left  the  hall  just  twenty-four  hours  before. 
I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  them  till  they  were 
gone.  And  when  I  looked  for  my  revolver,  it 
also  had  disappeared. 

i8i 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Jose  had  not  got  It — he  lay  insensible.  Santos 
was  whispering  to  Harris.  Neither  of  them 
seemed  armed.  I  made  sure  that  Rattray  had 
picked  it  up  and  carried  it  off  with  Eva.  I  looked 
wildly  for  some  other  weapon.  Two  unarmed 
men  and  a  woman  were  all  I  had  to  deal  with,  for 
Braithwaite  had  long  since  vanished.  Could  I 
but  knock  the  worthless  life  out  of  the  men,  I 
should  have  but  the  squire  and  his  servants  to  deal 
with;  and  in  that  quarter  I  still  had  my  hopes  of 
a  bloodless  battle  and  a  treaty  of  war. 

A  log  fire  was  smouldering  in  the  open  grate. 
I  darted  to  it,  and  had  a  heavy,  half-burned  brand 
whirling  round  my  head  next  instant.  Harris  was 
the  first  within  my  reach.  He  came  gamely  at 
me  with  his  fists.  I  sprang  upon  him,  and  struck 
him  to  the  ground  with  one  blow,  the  sparks  flying 
far  and  wide  as  my  smoking  brand  met  the  sea- 
man's skull.  Santos  was  upon  me  next  instant, 
and  him,  by  sheer  luck,  I  managed  to  serve  the 
same;  but  I  doubt  whether  either  man  was 
stunned;  and  I  was  standing  ready  for  them  to 
rise,  when  I  felt  myself  seized  round  the  neck 
from  behind,  and  a  mass  of  fluffy  hair  tickling  my 
cheek,  while  a  shrill  voice  set  up  a  lusty  scream 
for  the  squire. 

I  have  said  that  the  woman  Braithwaite  was 
182 


First  Blood 

of  a  sinister  strength ;  but  I  had  little  dreamt  how 
strong  she  really  was.  First  it  was  her  arms  that 
wound  themselves  about  my  neck,  long,  sinuous, 
and  supple  as  the  tentacles  of  some  vile  monster; 
then,  as  I  struggled,  her  thumbs  were  on  my  wind- 
pipe like  pads  of  steel.  Tighter  she  pressed,  and 
tighter  yet.  My  eyeballs  started;  my  tongue 
lolled;  I  heard  my  brand  drop,  and  through  a  mist 
I  saw  it  picked  up  instantly.  It  crashed  upon  my 
skull  as  I  still  struggled  vainly;  again  and  again 
it  came  down  mercilessly  in  the  same  place;  until 
I  felt  as  though  a  sponge  of  warm  water  had  been 
squeezed  over  my  head,  and  saw  a  hundred  with- 
ered masks  grinning  sudden  exultation  into  mine; 
but  still  the  lean  arm  whirled,  and  the  splinters 
flew,  till  I  was  blind  with  my  blood  and  the  seven 
senses  were  beaten  out  of  me. 


183 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A    DEADLOCK 

IT  must  have  been  midnight  when  I  opened 
my  eyes;  a  clock  was  striking  as  though  it 
never  would  stop.  My  mouth  seemed  fire;  a  pun- 
gent flavor  filled  my  nostrils;  the  wineglass  felt 
cold  against  my  teeth.  "That's  more  like  it!" 
muttered  a  voice  close  to  my  ear.  An  arm  was 
withdrawn  from  under  my  shoulders.  I  was  al- 
lowed to  sink  back  upon  some  pillows.  And  now 
I  saw  where  I  was.  The  room  was  large  and 
poorly  lighted.  I  lay  in  my  clothes  on  an  old 
four-poster  bed.  And  my  enemies  were  standing 
over  me  in  a  group. 

"I  hope  you  are  satisfied!"  sneered  Joaquin 
Santos,  with  a  flourish  of  his  eternal  cigarette. 

"I  am.  You  don't  do  murder  in  my  house, 
wherever  else  you  may  do  it." 

"And  now  better  lid  'im  to  the  nirrest  poliss- 
station;  or  weel  you  go  and  tell  the  poliss  your- 
self?" asked  the  Portuguese,  in  the  same  tone  of 
mordant  irony. 

184 


A  Deadlock 

"Ay,  ay,"  growled  Harris;  "that's  the  next 
thing!" 

"No,"  said  Rattray;  "the  next  thing's  for  you 
two  to  leave  him  to  me." 

"We'll  see  you  damned !"  cried  the  captain. 

"No,  no,  my  friend,"  said  Santos,  with  a  shrug; 
"let  him  have  his  way.  He  is  as  fond  of  his  skeen 
as'you  are  of  yours;  he'll  come  round  to  our  way 
in  the  end.  I  know  this  Senhor  Cole.  It  is  neces- 
sary for  'im  to  die.  But  it  is  not  necessary  this 
moment;  let  us  live  them  together  for  a  leetle 
beet." 

"That's  all  I  ask,"  said  Rattray. 

"You  won't  ask  it  twice,"  rejoined  Santos, 
shrugging.  "I  know  this  Senhor  Cole.  There  is 
only  one  way  of  dilling  with  a  man  like  that. 
Besides,  he  'as  'alf-keeled  my  good  Jose;  it  is 
necessary  for  'im  to  die." 

"I  agree  with  the  senhor,"  said  Harris,  whose 
forehead  was  starred  with  sticking-plaster.  "It's 
him  or  us,  an'  we're  all  agen  you,  squire.  You'll 
have  to  give  in,  first  or  last." 

And  the  pair  were  gone;  their  steps  grew  faint 
in  the  corridor;  when  we  could  no  longer  hear 
them,  Rattray  closed  the  door  and  quietly  locked 
it.  Then  he  turned  to  me,  stern  enough,  and 
pointed  to  the  door  with  a  hand  that  shook. 

185 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"You  see  how  It  Is?" 

"Perfectly." 

"They  want  to  kill  you!" 

"Of  course  they  do." 

"It's  your  own  fault;  youVe  run  yourself  into 
this.  I  did  my  best  to  keep  you  out  of  It.  But 
In  you  come,  and  spill  first  blood." 

"I  don't  regret  It,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  you're  damned  mule  enough  not  to  regret 
anything!"  cried  Rattray.  "I  see  the  sort  you 
are;  yet  but  for  me,  I  tell  you  plainly,  you'd  be 
a  dead  man  now." 

"I  can't  think  why  you  Interfered." 

"You've  heard  the  reason.  I  won't  have  mur- 
der done  here  If  I  can  prevent  It;  so  far  I  have; 
it  rests  with  you  whether  I  can  go  on  preventing 
It  or  not." 

"With  me,  does  it?" 

He  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed.  He  threw 
an  arm  to  the  far  side  of  my  body,  and  he  leaned 
over  me  with  savage  eyes  now  staring  into  mine, 
now  resting  with  a  momentary  gleam  of  pride 
upon  my  battered  head.  I  put  up  my  hand;  it 
lit  upon  a  very  turban  of  bandages,  and  at  that 
I  tried  to  take  his  hand  in  mine.  He  shook  it  off, 
and  his  eyes  met  mine  more  fiercely  than  before. 

"See  here.  Cole,"  said  he;  "I  don  t  know  how 
i86 


A  Deadlock 

the  devil  you  got  wind  of  anything  to  start  with, 
and  I  don't  care.  What  I  do  know  is  that  you've 
made  bad  enough  a  long  chalk  worse  for  all  con- 
cerned, and  you'll  have  to  get  yourself  out  of  the 
mess  you've  got  yourself  into,  and  there's  only 
one  way.  I  suppose  Miss  Denison  has  really  told 
you  everything  this  time?  What's  that?  Oh, 
yes,  she's  all  right  again;  no  thanks  to  you.  Now 
let's  hear  what  she  did  tell  you.     It'll  save  time." 

I  repeated  the  hurried  disclosures  made  by  Eva 
in  the  rhododendrons.  He  nodded  grimly  in  con- 
firmation of  their  truth. 

"Yes,  those  are  the  rough  facts.  The  game  was 
started  in  Melbourne.  My  part  was  to  wait  at 
Ascension  till  the  Lady  Jermyn  signalled  herself, 
follow  her  in  a  schooner  we  had  bought  and  pick 
up  the  gig  with  the  gold  aboard.  Well,  I  did  so; 
never  mind  the  details  now,  and  never  mind  the 
bloody  massacre  the  others  had  made  of  it  before 
I  came  up.  God  knows  I  was  never  a  consenting 
party  to  that,  though  /  know  I'm  responsible.  I'm 
in  this  thing  as  deep  as  any  of  them.  I've  shared 
the  risks  and  I'm  going  to  share  the  plunder,  and 
I'll  swing  with  the  others  if  it  ever  comes  to  that. 
I  deserve  it  hard  enough.  And  so  here  we  are, 
we  three  and  the  nigger,  all  four  fit  to  swing  in 
a  row,  as  you  were  fool  enough  to  tell  us;  and 

187 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

you  step  in  and  find  out  everything.  What's  to 
be  done?  You  know  what  the  others  want  to  do. 
I  say  it  rests  with  you  whether  they  do  it  or  not. 
There's  only  one  other  way  of  meeting  the  case." 

"What's  that?" 

*'Be  in  it  yourself,  man !  Come  in  with  me  and 
split  my  share!" 

I  could  have  burst  out  laughing  in  his  hand- 
some, eager  face;  the  good  faith  of  this  absurd 
proposal  was  so  incongruously  apparent;  and  so 
obviously  genuine  was  the  young  villain's  anxiety 
for  my  consent.  Become  accessory  after  the  fact 
in  such  a  crime !  Sell  my  silence  for  a  price !  I 
concealed  my  feelings  with  equal  difficulty  and 
resolution.  I  had  plans  of  my  own  already,  but 
I  must  gain  time  to  think  them  over.  Nor  could 
I  afford  to  quarrel  with  Rattray  meanwhile. 

"What  was  the  haul?"  I  asked  him,  with  the 
air  of  one  not  unprepared  to  consider  the  matter. 

"Twelve  thousand  ounces!" 

"Forty-eight  thousand  pounds,  about?" 
1  es — yes. 

"And  your  share?" 

"Fourteen  thousand  pounds.  Santos  takes 
twenty,  and  Harris  and  I  fourteen  thousand  each." 

"And  you  offer  me  seven?" 

"I  do!    I  do!" 

i88 


A  Deadlock 

He  was  becoming  more  and  more  eager  and 
excited.  His  eyes  were  brighter  than  I  had  ever 
seen  them,  but  slightly  bloodshot,  and  a  coppery- 
flush  tinged  his  clear,  sunburnt  skin.  I  fancied  he 
had  been  making  somewhat  free  with  the  brandy. 
But  loss  of  blood  had  cooled  my  brain;  and,  per- 
haps, natural  perversity  had  also  a  share  in  the 
composure  which  grew  upon  me  as  it  deserted  my 
companion. 

"Why  make  such  a  sacrifice?"  said  I,  smiling. 
"Why  not  let  them  do  as  they  like?" 

"I've  told  you  why!  I'm  not  so  bad  as  all 
that.  I  draw  the  line  at  bloody  murder!  Not 
a  life  should  have  been  lost  if  I'd  had  my  way- 
Besides,  I've  done  all  the  dirty  work  by  you,  Cole; 
there's  been  no  help  for  it.  We  didn't  know 
whether  you  knew  or  not;  it  made  all  the  differ- 
ence to  us ;  and  somebody  had  to  dog  you  and  find 
out  how  much  you  did  know.  I  was  the  only  one 
who  could  possibly  do  it.  God  knows  how  I 
detested  the  job !  I'm  more  ashamed  of  it  than 
of  worse  things.  I  had  to  worm  myself  into  your 
friendship ;  and,  by  Jove,  you  made  me  think  you 
did  know,  but  hadn't  let  it  out,  and  might  any  day. 
So  then  I  got  you  up  here,  where  you  would  be 
in  our  power  if  it  was  so;  surely  you  can  see  every 
move?    But  this  much  I'll  swear — I  had  nothing 

189 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

to  do  with  Jose  breaking  into  your  room  at  the 
hotel;  they  went  behind  me  there,  curse  them! 
And  when  at  last  I  found  out  for  certain,  down 
here,  that  you  knew  nothing  after  all,  I  was  never 
more  sincerely  thankful  in  my  life.  I  give  you  my 
word  it  took  a  load  off  my  heart." 

"I  know  that,"  I  said.  "I  also  know  who  broke 
into  my  room,  and  I'm  glad  I'm  even  with  one 
of  you." 

"It's  done  you  no  good,"  said  Rattray.  "Their 
first  thought  was  to  put  you  out  of  the  way,  and 
it's  more  than  ever  their  last.  You  see  the  sort 
of  men  you've  got  to  deal  with;  and  they're  three 
to  one,  counting  the  nigger;  but  if  you  go  in  with 
me  they'll  only  be  three  to  two." 

He  was  manifestly  anxious  to  save  me  in  this 
fashion.  And  I  suppose  that  most  sensible  men, 
in  my  dilemma,  would  at  least  have  nursed  or 
played  upon  good-will  so  lucky  and  so  enduring. 
But  there  was  always  a  twist  in  me  that  made 
j  me  love  (in  my  youth)  to  take  the  unexpected 
course;  and  It  amused  me  the  more  to  lead  my 
young  friend  on. 

"And  where  have  you  got  this  gold?"  I  asked 
him,  in  a  low  voice  so  promising  that  he  instantly 
lowered  his,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  naughtily  into 
mine. 

190 


A  Deadlock 

"In  the  old  tunnel  that  runs  from  this  place 
nearly  to  the  sea,"  said  he.  "We  Rattrays  have 
always  been  a  pretty  warm  lot,  Cole,  and  in  the 
old  days  we  were  the  most  festive  smugglers  on 
the  coast;  this  tunnel's  a  relic  of  'em,  although 
it  was  only  a  tradition  till  I  came  into  the  property. 
I  swore  I'd  find  it,  and  when  I'd  done  so  I  made 
the  new  connection  which  you  shall  see.  I'm 
rather  proud  of  it.  And  I  won't  say  I  haven't 
used  the  old  drain  once  or  twice  after  the  fashion 
of  my  rude  forefathers;  but  never  was  it  such  a 
godsend  as  it's  been  this  time.  By  Jove,  it  would 
be  a  sin  if  you  didn't  come  in  with  us.  Cole;  but 
for  the  lives  these  blackguards  lost  the  thing's 
gone  splendidly;  it  would  be  a  sin  if  you  went 
and  lost  yours,  whereas,  if  you  come  in,  the  two 
of  us  would  be  able  to  shake  off  those  devils:  we 
should  be  too  strong  for  'em." 

"Seven  thousand  pounds!"  I  murmured. 
"Forty'-eight  thousand  between  us!" 

"Yes,  and  nearly  all  of  it  down  below,  at  this 
end  of  the  tunnel,  and  the  rest  where  we  dropped 
it  when  we  heard  you  were  trying  to  bolt.  We'd 
got  it  all  at  the  other  end,  ready  to  pop  aboard  the 
schooner  that's  lying  there  still,  if  you  turned  out 
to  know  anything  and  to  have  told  what  you 
knew  to  the  police.     There  was  always  the  pos- 

191 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

sibility  of  that,  you  see;  we  simply  daren't  show 
our  noses  at  the  bank  until  we  knew  how  much 
yoii  knew,  and  what  you'd  done  or  were  thinking 
of  doing.  As  It  Is,  we  can  take  'em  the  whole 
twelve  thousand  ounces,  or  rather  I  can,  as  soon 
as  I  like,  in  broad  daylight.  I'm  a  lucky  digger. 
It's  all  right.  Everybody  knows  I've  been  out 
there.  They'll  have  to  pay  me  over  the  counter; 
and  if  you  wait  In  the  cab,  by  the  Lord  Harry,  I'll 
pay  you  your  seven  thousand  first!  You  don't 
deserve  it.  Cole,  but  you  shall  have  It,  and  between 
us  we'll  see  the  others  to  blazes !" 

He  jumped  up  all  excitement,  and  was  at  the 
door  next  instant. 

"Stop!"  I  cried.     "Where  are  you  going?" 

"Downstairs  to  tell  them." 

"Tell  them  what?" 

"That  you're  going  In  with  me,  and  it's  all 
right." 

"And  do  you  really  think  I  am?" 

He  had  unlocked  the  door;  after  a  pause  I 
heard  him  lock  It  again.  But  I  did  not  see  his 
face  until  he  returned  to  the  bedside.  And  then 
It  frightened  me.  It  was  distorted  and  discol- 
ored with  rage  and  chagrin. 

"You've  been  making  a  fool  of  me!"  he  cried 
fiercely. 

192 


A  Deadlock 

"No,  I  have  been  considering  the  matter,  Rat- 
tray." 

"And  you  won't  accept  my  offer?" 

"Of  course  I  won't.     I  didn't  say  I'd  been  con- 
sidering that." 

He  stood  over  me  with  clenched  fists  and  start- 
ing eyes. 

."Don't  you  see  that  I  want  to  save  your  life?" 
he  cried.  "Don't  you  see  that  this  is  the  only 
way?  Do  you  suppose  a  murder  more  or  less 
makes  any  difference  to  that  lot  downstairs?  Are 
you  really  such  a  fool  as  to  die  rather  than  hold 
your  tongue?" 

"I  won't  hold  it  for  money,  at  all  events,"  said 
I.     "But  that's  what  I  was  coming  to." 

"Very  well !"  he  interrupted.  "You  shall  only 
pretend  to  touch  it.  All  I  want  is  to  convince  the 
others  that  it's  against  your  interest  to  split.  Self- 
interest  is  the  one  motive  they  understand.  Your 
bare  word  would  be  good  enough  for  me." 

"Suppose  I  won't  give  my  bare  word?"  said 
I,  in  a  gentle  manner  which  I  did  not  mean  te 
be  as  irritating  as  it  doubtless  was.  Yet  his  pro- 
posals and  his  assumptions  were  between  them 
making  me  irritable  in  my  turn. 

"For  Heaven's  sake  don't  be  such  an  idiot. 
Cole !"  he  burst  out  in  a  passion.    "You  know  I'm 

193 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

against  the  others,  and  you  know  what  they  want, 
yet  you  do  your  best  to  put  me  on  their  side ! 
You  know  what  they  are,  and  yet  you  hesitate! 
For  the  love  of  God  be  sensible;  as  least  give  me 
your  word  that  you'll  hold  your  tongue  for  ever 
about  all  you  know." 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "I'll  give  you  my  word — 
my  sacred  promise,  Rattray — on  one  condition.'* 

"What's  that?" 

"That  you  let  me  take  Miss  Denison  away  from 
you,  for  good  and  all !" 

His  face  was  transformed  with  fury:  honest 
passion  faded  from  it  and  left  it  bloodless,  deadly, 
sinister. 

"Away  from  me?"  said  Rattray,  through  his 
teeth. 

"From  the  lot  of  you." 

"I  remember !  You  told  me  that  night.  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !    You  were  in  love  with  her — you — you !" 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  I,  shak- 
ing the  bed  with  my  anger  and  my  agitation. 

"I  should  hope  not!  You,  indeed,  to  look  at 
herr 

"Well,"  I  cried,  "she  may  never  love  me;  but 
at  least  she  doesn't  loathe  me  as  she  loathes  you 
— yes,  and  the  sight  of  you,  and  your  very  name !" 

So  I  drew  blood  for  blood;  and  for  an  instant 
194 


A  Deadlock 

I  thought  he  was  going  to  make  an  end  of  It  by 
incontinently  killing  me  himself.  His  fists  flew 
out.  Had  I  been  a  whole  man  on  my  legs,  he 
took  care  to  tell  me  what  he  would  have  done, 
and  to  drive  it  home  with  a  mouthful  of  the  oaths 
which  were  conspicuously  absent  from  his  ordi- 
nary talk. 

"You  take  advantage  of  your  weakness,  like  any 
cur,"  he  wound  up. 

"And  you  of  your  strength — like  the  young 
bully  you  are!"  I  retorted. 

"You  do  your  best  to  make  me  one,"  he  an- 
swered bitterly.  "I  try  to  stand  by  you  at  all  costs. 
I  want  to  make  amends  to  you,  I  want  to  prevent 
a  crime.  Yet  there  you  lie  and  set  your  face  against 
a  compromise;  and  there  you  lie  and  taunt  me  with 
the  thing  that's  gall  and  wormwood  to  me  already. 
I  know  I  gave  you  provocation.  And  I  know  I'm 
rightly  served.  Why  do  you  suppose  I  went  into 
this  accursed  thing  at  all?  Not  for  the  gold,  my. 
boy,  but  for  the  girl !  So  she  won't  look  at  me. 
And  it  serves  me  right.  But — I  say — do  you 
really  think  she  loathes  me.  Cole?" 

"I  don't  see  how  she  can  think  much  better  of 
you  than  of  the  crime  in  which  you've  had  a 
hand,"  was  my  reply,  made,  however,  with  as 
much  kindness  as  I  could  summon.     "The  word 

195 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  used  was  spoken  in  anger,"  said  I;  for  his  had 
disappeared;  and  he  looked  such  a  miserable, 
handsome  dog  as  he  stood  there  hanging  his 
guilty  head — in  the  room,  I  fancied,  where  he 
once  had  lain  as  a  pretty,  innocent  child. 

"Cole,"  said  he,  "I'd  give  twice  my  share  of 
the  damned  stuff  never  to  have  put  my  hand  to 
the  plough;  but  go  back  I  can't;  so  there's  an  end 
of  it." 

"I  don't  see  it,"  said  I.  "You  say  you  didn't 
go  in  for  the  gold?  Then  give  up  your  share; 
the  others'll  jump  at  it;  and  Eva  won't  think  the 
worse  of  you,  at  any  rate." 

"  But  what's  to  become  of  her  If  I  drop 
out?" 

"You  and  I  will  take  her  to  her  friends,  or 
wherever  she  wants  to  go." 

"No,  no!"  he  cried.  "I  never  yet  deserted  my 
pals,  and  I'm  not  going  to  begin." 

"I  don't  believe  you  ever  before  had  such  pals 
to  desert,"  was  my  reply  to  that.  "Quite  apart 
from  my  own  share  in  the  matter,  it  makes  me 
positively  sick  to  see  a  fellow  like  you  mixed  up 
with  such  a  crew  in  such  a  game.  Get  out  of  it, 
man,  get  out  of  it  while  you  can !  Now's  your 
time.    Get  out  of  it,  for  God's  sake !" 

I  sat  up  in  my  eagerness.  I  saw  him  waver. 
196 


A  Deadlock 

And  for  one  instant  a  great  hope  fluttered  In  my 
heart.  But  his  teeth  met.  His  face  darkened. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"That's  the  kind  of  rot  that  isn't  worth  talking, 
and  you  ought  to  know  It,"  said  he.  "When  I 
begin  a  thing  I  go  through  with  It,  though  it 
lands  me  In  hell,  as  this  one  will.  I  can't 
help  that.  It's  too  late  to  go  back.  I'm  going  on; 
and  you're  going  with  me,  Cole,  like  a  sensible 
chap !  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Only  on  the  one  condition." 

"You-stlck-to-that  ?"  he  said,  so  rapidly  that  the 
words  ran  into  one,  so  fiercely  that  his  decision 
was  as  plain  to  me  as  my  own. 

"I  do,"  said  I,  and  could  only  sigh  when  he 
made  yet  one  more  effort  to  persuade  me,  in  a  dis- 
tress not  less  apparent  than  his  resolution,  and  not 
less  becoming  In  him. 

"Consider,  Cole,  consider!" 

"I  have  already  done  so,  Rattray." 

"Murder  is  simply  nothing  to  them !" 

"It  Is  nothing  to  me  either." 

"Human  life  Is  nothing!" 

"No;  It  must  end  one  day." 

"You  won't  give  your  word  unconditionally?" 

"No;  you  know  my  condition." 
197 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

He  ignored  it  with  a  blazing  eye,  his  hand  upon 
the  door. 

"You  prefer  to  die,  then?" 

"Infinitely." 

"Then  die  you  may,  and  be  damned  to  you  !'* 


198 


CHAPTER   XVII 

WHEN   THIEVES    FALL    OUT 

THE  door  slammed.  It  was  invisibly  locked, 
and  the  key  taken  out.  I  listened  for  the 
last  of  an  angry  stride.  It  never  even  began. 
But  after  a  pause  the  door  was  unlocked  again, 
and  Rattray  re-entered. 

Without  looking  at  me,  he  snatched  the  candle 
from  the  table  on  which  it  stood  by  the  bedside, 
and  carried  it  to  a  bureau  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room.  There  he  stood  a  minute  with  his  back 
turned,  the  candle,  I  fancy,  on  the  floor.  I  saw 
him  putting  something  In  either  jacket  pocket. 
Then  I  heard  a  dull  little  snap,  as  though  he  had 
shut  some  si;nall  morocco  case;  whatever  It  was, 
I  he  tossed  it  carelessly  back  into  the  bureau ;  and 
next  minute  he  was  really  gone,  leaving  the  candle 
burning  on  the  floor. 

I  lay  and  heard  his  steps  out  of  earshot,  and 
they  were  angry  enough  now,  nor  had  he  given 
me  a  single  glance.  I  listened  until  there  was  no 
more  to  be  heard,  and  then  in  an  Instant  I  was  off 

199 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  bed  and  on  my  feet.  I  reeled  a  little,  and  my 
head  gave  me  great  pain,  but  greater  still  was  my 
excitement.  I  caught  up  the  candle,  opened  the 
I  unlocked  bureau,  and  then  the  empty  case  which 
I  found  in  the  very  front. 

My  heart  leapt ;  there  was  no  mistaking  the  de- 
pressions in  the  case.  It  was  a  brace  of  tiny  pis- 
tols that  Rattray  had  slipped  into  his  jacket 
pockets. 

Mere  toys  they  must  have  been  in  comparison 
with  my  dear  Deane  and  Adams;  that  mattered 
nothing.  I  went  no  longer  in  dire  terror  of  my 
life;  indeed,  there  was  that  in  Rattray  which  had 
left  me  feeling  fairly  safe,  in  spite  of  his  last 
words  to  me,  albeit  I  felt  his  fears  on  my  behalf 
to  be  genuine  enough.  His  taking  these  little  pis- 
tols (of  course,  there  were  but  three  chambers 
left  loaded  in  mine)  confirmed  my  confidence  in 
him. 

He  would  stick  at  nothing  to  defend  me 
from  the  violence  of  his  bloodthirsty  accomplices. 
But  it  should  not  come  to  that.  My  legs  were 
growing  firmer  under  me.  I  was  not  going  to  lie 
there  meekly  without  making  at  least  an  effort  at 
self-deliverance.  If  it  succeeded — the  idea  came 
to  me  in  a  flash — I  would  send  Rattray  an  ultima- 
tum from  the  nearest  town ;  and  either  Eva  should 

200 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out 

be  set  instantly  and  unconditionally  free,  or  the 
whole  matter  be  put  unreservedly  in  the  hands  of 
the  local  police. 

There  were  two  lattice  windows,  both  in  the 
same  immensely  thick  wall;  to  my  joy,  I  dis- 
covered that  they  overlooked  the  open  premises  at 
the  back  of  the  hall,  with  the  oak-plantation  be- 
yond; nor  was  the  distance  to  the  ground  very 
great.  It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  tear  the 
sheets  from  the  bed,  to  tie  the  two  ends  together 
and  a  third  round  the  mullion  by  which  the  larger 
window  was  bisected.  I  had  done  this,  and  had 
let  down  my  sheets,  when  a  movement  below 
turned  my  heart  to  ice.  The  night  had  clouded 
over.  I  could  see  nobody;  so  much  the  greater 
was  my  alarm. 

I  withdrew  from  the  window,  leaving  the 
sheets  hanging,  in  the  hope  that  they  also  might 
be  invisible  in  the  darkness.  I  put  out  the  candle, 
and  returned  to  the  window  in  great  perplexity. 
Next  moment  I  stood  agh  •  '—between  the  devil 
and  the  deep  sea.  I  still  heard  a  something  down 
below,  but  a  worse  sound  came  to  drown  it.  An 
unseen  hand  was  very  quietly  trying  the  door 
which  Rattray  had  locked  behind  him. 

"Diablo!"  came  to  my  horrified  ears,  In  a  soft, 
vindictive  voice. 

201 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"I  told  ye  so,"  muttered  another;  "the  young 
swab's  got  the  key," 

There  was  a  pause,  In  which  it  would  seem  that 
Joaquin  Santos  had  his  ear  at  the  empty  keyhole. 

"I  think  he  must  be  slipping,"  at  last  I  heard 
him  sigh.  "It  was  not  necessary  to  awaken  him 
in  this  world.     It  is  a  peety." 

"One  kick  over  the  lock  would  do  it,"  said  Har- 
ris; "only  the  young  swab'll  hear." 

"Not  perhaps  while  he  is  dancing  attendance 
on  the  senhora.  Was  it  not  good  to  send  him  to 
her?  If  he  does  hear,  well,  his  own  turn  will 
come  the  queecker,  that  is  all.  But  it  would  be 
better  to  take  them  one  at  a  time;  so  keeck  away, 
my  friend,  and  I  will  give  him  no  time  to 
squil." 

While  my  would-be  murderers  were  holding 
this  whispered  colloquy,  I  had  stood  haif-petrified 
by  the  open  window;  unwilling  to  slide  down  the 
sheets  into  the  arms  of  an  unseen  enemy,  though 
I  had  no  Idea  which  of  them  It  could  be;  more 
hopeful  of  slipping  past  my  butchers  In  the  dark- 
ness, and  so  to  Rattray  and  poor  Eva ;  but  not  the 
less  eagerly  looking  for  some  hiding-place  in  the 
room.  The  best  that  offered  was  a  recess  In  the 
thick  wall  between  the  two  windows,  filled  with 
hanging  clothes:  a  narrow  closet  without  a  door, 

202 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out 

which  would  shelter  me  well  enough  if  not  too 
curiously  inspected.  Here  I  hid  myself  in  the  end, 
after  a  moment  of  indecision  which  nearly  cost 
me  my  life.  The  coats  and  trousers  still  shook 
in  front  of  me  when  the  door  flew  open  at  the  first 
kick,  and  Santos  stood  a  moment  in  the  moon- 
light, looking  for  the  bed.  With  a  stride  he 
reached  it,  and  I  saw  the  gleam  of  a  knife  from 
where  I  stood  among  the  squire's  clothes;  it 
flashed  over  my  bed,  and  was  still. 

*'He  is  not  'ere!" 

"He  heard  us,  and  he's  a-hiding." 

"Make  light,  my  friend,  and  v/e  shall  very 
soon  see." 

Harris  did  so. 

"Here's  a  candle,"  said  Santos;  "light  it,  and 
watch  the  door.  Perro  mal  dicto  !  What  have  we 
here?" 

I  felt  certain  he  had  seen  me,  but  the  candle 
passed  within  a  yard  of  my  feet,  and  was  held  on 
high  at  the  open  window. 

"We  are  too  late!"  said  Santos.    "He's  gone!" 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Look  at  this  sheet." 

"Then  the  other  swab  knew  of  it,  and  we'll 
settle  with  him." 

"Yes,  yes.  But  not  yet,  my  good  friend — not 
203 


Dead  Men   Tell  No  Tales 

yet.  We  want  his  asseestance  in  getting  the  gold 
back  to  the  sea ;  he  will  be  glad  enough  to  give  it, 
now  that  his  pet  bird  has  flown;  after  that — ^by  all 
mins.  You  shall  cut  his  troth,  and  I  will  put  one 
of  'is  dear  friend's  bullets  in  'im  for  my  own  satis- 
faction." 

There  was  a  quick  step  on  the  stairs — in  the 
corridor. 

"I'd  like  to  do  it  now,"  whispered  Harris;  "no 
time  like  the  present." 

"Not  yet,  I  tell  you!" 

And  Rattray  was  in  the  room,  a  silver-mounted 
pistol  in  each  hand;  the  sight  of  these  was  a  sur- 
prise to  his  treacherous  confederates,  as  even  I 
could  see. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  two  doing  here?"  he 
thundered. 

"We  thought  he  was  too  quite,"  said  Santos, 
"You  percive  the  rizzon." 

And  he  waved  from  empty  bed  to  open  win- 
dow, then  held  the  candle  close  to  the  tied  sheet, 
and  shrugged  expressively. 

"You  thought  he  was  too  quiet!"  echoed  Rat- 
tray with  fierce  scorn.  "You  thought  I  was  too 
blind — that's  what  you  mean.  To  tell  me  that 
Miss  Denison  wished  to  see  me,  and  Miss  Deni- 
son  that  I  wished  to  speak  to  her!     As  If  we 

204 


when  Thieves  Fall  Out 

shouldn't  find  you  out  in  about  a  minute !  But  a 
minute  was  better  than  nothing,  eh?  And  you've 
made  good  use  of  your  minute,  have  you.  You've 
murdered  him,  and  you  pretend  he's  got  out?  By^ 
God,  if  you  have,  I'll  murder  you!  I've  been 
ready  for  this  all  night !" 

And  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  window,  his 
pistols  raised,  and  his  head  carried  proudly — hap- 
pily— like  a  man  whose  self-respect  was  coming 
back  to  him  after  many  days,  Harris  shrank  be- 
fore his  fierce  eyes  and  pointed  barrels.  The 
Portuguese,  however,  had  merely  given  a  char- 
acteristic shrug,  and  was  now  rolling  the  inevita- 
ble cigarette. 

"Your  common  sense  is  almost  as  remarkable 
as  your  sense  of  justice,  my  friend,"  said  he. 
"You  see  us  one,  two,  tree  meenutes  ago,  and  you 
see  us  now.  You  see  the  empty  bed,  the  empty 
room,  and  you  imagine  that  in  one,  two,  tree 
meenutes  we  have  killed  a  man  and  disposed  of 
his  body.  Truly,  you  are  very  wise  and  just,  and 
very  loyal  also  to  your  friends.  You  treat  a ; 
dangerous  enemy  as  though  he  were  your  tween- 1 
brother.  You  let  him  escape — let  him,  I  repit — 
and  then  you  threaten  to  shoot  those  who,  as  it  is, 
may  pay  for  your  carelessness  with  their  lives. 
We  have  been  always  very  loyal  to  you,  Senhor 

205 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Rattray,  We  have  leestened  to  your  advice,  and 
often  taken  it  against  our  better  judgment.  We 
are  here,  not  because  we  think  It  wise,  but  because 
you  weeshed  it.  Yet  at  the  first  temptation  you 
I  turn  upon  us,  you  point  your  peestols  at  your 
friends." 

"I  don't  believe  In  your  loyalty,"  rejoined  Rat- 
tray. "I  believe  you  would  shoot  me  sooner  than 
I  would  you.  The  only  difference  would  be  that 
I  should  be  shot  in  the  back!" 

"It  Is  untrue,"  said  Santos,  with  immense  emo- 
tion. "I  call  the  saints  to  witness  that  never  by 
thought  or  word  have  I  been  disloyal  to  you" — 
and  the  blasphemous  wretch  actually  crossed  him- 
self with  a  trembling,  skinny  hand.  "I  have 
leestened  to  you,  though  you  are  the  younger  man. 
I  have  geeven  way  to  you  In  everything  from  the 
moment  we  were  so  fullish  as  to  set  foot  on  this 
accursed  coast;  that  also  was  your  doeeng;  and  It 
will  be  your  fault  If  Ivil  comes  of  It.  Yet  I  have 
not  complained.  Here  In  your  own  'ouse  you  have 
been  the  master,  I  the  guest.  So  far  from  plot- 
ting against  you,  show  me  the  man  who  has  heard 
me  brith  one  treacherous  word  behind  your  back; 
you  will  find  it  deeficult,  friend  Rattray;  what  do 
you  say,  captain?" 

"Me?"  cried  Harris,  In  a  voice  bursting  with 
206 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out 

abuse.  And  what  the  captain  said  may  or  may 
not  be  imagined.     It  cannot  be  set  down. 

But  the  man  who  ought  to  have  spoken — the 
man  who  had  such  a  chance  as  few  men  have  off 
the  stage — who  could  have  confounded  these  vil- 
lains in  a  breath,  and  saved  the  wretched  Rattray 
at  once  from  them  and  from  himself — that  un- 
heroic  hero  remained  ignobly  silent  in  his  homely 
hiding-place.  And,  what  is  more,  he  would  do  the 
same  again ! 

The  rogues  had  fallen  out;  now  was  the  time 
for  honest  men.  They  all  thought  I  had  escaped; 
therefore  they  would  give  me  a  better  chance  than 
ever  of  still  escaping;  and  I  have  already  explained 
to  what  purpose  I  meant  to  use  my  first  hours  of 
liberty.  That  purpose  I  hold  to  have  justified  any 
ingratitude  that  I  may  seem  now  to  have  dis- 
played towards  the  man  who  had  undoubtedly 
stood  between  death  and  me.  Was  not  Eva  Deni- 
son  of  more  value  than  many  Rattrays?  And  it 
was  precisely  in  relation  with  this  pure  young  girl 
that  I  most  mistrusted  the  squire :  obviously  then 
my  first  duty  was  to  save  Eva  from  Rattray,  not 
Rattray  from  these  traitors. 

Not  that  I  pretend  for  a  moment  to  have  been 
the  thing  I  never  was:  you  are  not  so  very  grate- 
ful to  the  man  who  pulls  you  out  of  the  mud  when 

207 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

he  has  first  of  all  pushed  you  in ;  nor  is  it  chivalry 
alone  which  spurs  one  to  the  rescue  of  a  lovely 
lady  for  whom,  after  all,  one  would  rather  live 
than  die.  Thus  I,  in  my  corner,  was  think- 
ing (I  will  say)  of  Eva  first;  but  next  I  was  think- 
ing of  myself;  and  Rattray's  blood  be  on  his  own 
hot  head!  I  hold,  moreover,  that  I  was  perfectly 
right  in  all  this;  but  if  any  think  me  very  wrong, 
a  sufficient  satisfaction  is  in  store  for  them,  for  I 
was  very  swiftly  punished. 

The  captain's  language  was  no  worse  in  char- 
acter than  In  effect:  the  bed  was  bloody  from  my 
wounded  head,  all  tumbled  from  the  haste  with 
which  I  had  quitted  it,  and  only  too  suggestive  of 
still  fouler  play.  Rattray  stopped  the  captain 
with  a  sudden  flourish  of  one  of  his  pistols,  the 
silver  mountings  making  lightning  In  the  room; 
then  he  called  upon  the  pair  of  them  to  show  him 
what  they  had  done  with  me;  and  to  my  horror, 
Santos  Invited  him  to  search  the  room.  The  in- 
vitation was  accepted.  Yet  there  I  stood.  It 
would  have  been  better  to  step  forward  even 
then.  Yet  I  cowered  among  his  clothes  until 
his  own  hand  fell  upon  my  collar,  and  forth 
I  was  dragged  to  the  plain  amazement  of  all 
three. 

Santos  was  the  first  to  find  his  voice. 
208 


when  Thieves  Fall  Out 

"Another  time  you  will  perhaps  think  twice  be- 
fore you  spik,  friend  squire." 

Rattray  simply  asked  me  what  I  had  been  doing 
in  there,  in  a  white  flame  of  passion,  and  with 
such  an  oath  that  I  embellished  the  truth  for  him 
in  my  turn. 

"Trying  to  give  you  blackguards  the  slip," 
said  I. 

"Then  It  was  you  who  let  down  the  sheet?" 

"Of  course  It  was." 

"All  right!  I'm  done  with  you,"  said  he;  "that 
settles  it.  I  make  you  an  offer.  You  won't 
accept  it.  I  do  my  best;  you  do  your  worst; 
but  I'll  be  shot  if  you  get  another  chance 
from  me!" 

Brandy  and  the  wine-glass  stood  where  Rat- 
tray must  have  set  them,  on  an  oak  stool  beside 
the  bed;  as  he  spoke  he  crossed  the  room,  filled 
the  glass  till  the  spirit  dripped,  and  drained  It  at 
a  gulp.  He  was  twitching  and  wincing  still  when 
he  turned,  walked  up  to  Joaquin  Santos,  and 
pointed  to  where  I  stood  with  a  fist  that  shook. 

"You  wanted  to  deal  with  him,"  said  Rattray; 
"you're  at  liberty  to  do  so.  I'm  only  sorry  I  stood 
in  your  way." 

But  no  answer,  and  for  once  no  rings  of  smoke 
came    from   those   shrivelled  lips :   the   man   had 

209 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

rolled  and  lighted  a  cigarette  since  Rattray 
entered,  but  it  was  burning  unheeded  between  his 
skinny  fingers,  /  had  his  attention,  all  to  myself. 
He  knew  the  tale  that  I  was  going  to  tell.  He 
was  waiting  for  it;  he  was  ready  for  me.  The 
attentive  droop  of  his  head;  the  crafty  glitter  in 
his  Intelligent  eyes;  the  depth  and  breadth  of  the 
creased  forehead;  the  knowledge  of  his  resource, 
the  consciousness  of  my  error,  all  distracted  and 
confounded  me  so  that  my  speech  halted  and  my 
voice  ran  thin.  I  told  Rattray  every  syllable  that 
these  traitors  had  been  saying  behind  his  back,  but 
I  told  it  all  very  ill;  what  was  worse,  and  made 
me  worse,  I  was  only  too  well  aware  of  my  own 
failure  to  carry  conviction  with  my  words. 

*'And  why  couldn't  you  come  out  and  say  so?" 
asked  Rattray,  as  even  I  knew  that  he  must. 
"Why  wait  till  now?" 

"Ah,  why!"  echoed  Santos,  with  a  smile  and 
a  shake  of  the  head;  a  suspicious  tolerance,  an 
ostentatious  truce,  upon  his  parchment  face.  And 
already  he  was  sufficiently  relieved  to  suck  his 
cigarette  alight  again. 

"You  know  why,"  I  said,  trusting  to  bluff  hon- 
esty with  the  one  of  them  who  was  not  rotten  to 
the  core:  "because  I  still  meant  escaping." 

"And  then  what?"  asked  Rattray  fiercely. 

210 


when  Thieves  Fall  Out 

"You  had  given  me  my  chance,"  I  said;  "1 
should  have  given  you  yours." 

"You  would,  would  you?  Very  kind  of  you, 
Mr.  Cole!" 

"No,  no,"  said  Santos;  "not  kind,  but  clever! 
Clever,  spicious,  and  queeck-weeted  beyond  belif ! 
Senhor  Rattray,  we  have  all  been  in  the  dark;  we 
thought  we  had  fool  to  dil  with,  but  what  admira- 
ble knave  the  young  man  would  make !  Such 
readiness,  such  resource,  with  his  tongue  or  with 
his  peestol;  how  useful  would  it  be  to  us!  I  am 
glad  you  have  decided  to  live  him  to  me,  friend 
Rattray,  for  I  am  quite  come  round  to  your  way 
of  thinking.  It  is  no  longer  necessary  for  him 
to  die!" 

"You  mean  that?"  cried  Rattray  keenly. 

"Of  course  I  min  it.  You  were  quite  right. 
He  must  join  us.    But  he  will  when  I  talk  to  him. 

I  could  not  speak.  I  was  fascinated  by  this 
wretch :  it  was  reptile  and  rabbit  with  us.  Treach- 
ery I  knew  he  meant ;  my  death,  for  one ;  my  death 
was  certain;  and  yet  I  could  not  speak. 

"Then  talk  to  him,  for  God's  sake,"  cried  Rat- 
tray, "and  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  if  you  can  talk 
some  sense  into  him.     I've  tried,  and  failed." 

"I  shall  not  fail,"  said  Santos  softly.  "But  it 
Is  better  that  he  has  a  leetle  time  to  think  over  it 

211 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

calmly;  better  steel  for  'Im  to  slip  upon  it,  as  you 
say.  Let  us  live  'im  for  the  night,  what  there  is 
of  it;  time  enough  in  the  morning." 

I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears;  still  I  knew  that 
It  was  treachery,  all  treachery;  and  the  morning 
I  should  never  see. 

"But  we  can't  leave  him  up  here,"  said  Rat- 
tray; "it  would  mean  one  of  us  watching  him  all 
night." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Santos.  "I  will  tell  you  where 
we  could  live  him,  however,  if  you  will  allow  me 
to  wheesper  one  leetle  moment." 

They  drew  aside;  and,  as  I  live,  I  thought  that 
little  moment  w^as  to  be  Rattray's  last  on  earth.  I 
watched,  but  nothing  happened;  on  the  contrary, 
both  men  seemed  agreed,  the  Portuguese  gesticu- 
lating, the  Englishman  nodding,  as  they  stood  con- 
versing at  the  window.  Their  faces  were 
strangely  reassuring.  I  began  to  reason  with  my- 
self, to  rid  my  mind  of  mere  presentiment  and 
j  superstition.  If  these  two  really  were  at  one 
about  me  (I  argued)  there  might  be  no  treachery 
after  all.  When  I  came  to  think  of  it,  Rattray 
had  been  closeted  long  enough  with  me  to  awake 
the  worst  suspicions  In  the  breasts  of  his  com- 
panions; now  that  these  were  allayed,  there  might 
be  no  more  bloodshed  after  all  (if,  for  example, 

212 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out 

I  pretended  to  give  in),  even  though  Santos  had 
not  cared  whose  blood  was  shed  a  few  minutes 
since.  That  was  evidently  the  character  of  the 
wretch:  to  compass  his  ends  or  to  defend  his  per- 
son he  would  take  life  with  no  more  compunction 
than  the  ordinary  criminal  takes  money;  but  (and 
hence)  murder  for  murder's  sake  was  no  amuse- 
ment to  him. 

My  confidence  was  further  restored  by  Captain 
Harris;  ever  a  gross  ruffian,  with  no  refinements 
to  his  rascality,  he  had  been  at  the  brandy  bottle 
after  Rattray's  example;  and  nov/  was  dozing  on 
the  latter's  bed,  taking  his  v/atch  below  when  he 
could  get  it,  like  the  good  seaman  he  had  been. 
I  was  quite  sorry  for  him  when  the  conversation 
at  the  window  ceased  suddenly,  and  Rattray 
roused  the  captain  up. 

"Watches  aft!"  said  he.  "We  want  that  mat- 
tress; you  can  bring  it  along,  while  I  lead  the  way 
with  the  pillows  and  things.     Come  on,  Cole !" 

"Where  to?"  I  asked,  standing  firm. 

"Where  there's  no  window  for  you  to  jump  out 
of,  old  boy,  and  no  clothes  of  mine  for  you  to  hide 
behind.  You  needn't  look  so  scared;  it's  as  dry 
as  a  bone,  as  cellars  go.  And  it's  past  three 
o'clock.     And  you've  just  got  to  come." 


213 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

A    MAN    OF    MANY    MURDERS 

IT  was  a  good-sized  wine-cellar,  with  very  little 
wine  in  it;  only  one  full  bin  could  I  discover. 
The  bins  themselves  lined  but  two  of  the  walls, 
and  most  of  them  were  covered  in  with  cobwebs, 
close-drawn  like  mosquito-curtains.  The  ceiling 
was  all  too  low :  torpid  spiders  hung  in  disreputa- 
ble parlors,  dead  to  the  eye,  but  loathsomely  alive 
at  an  involuntary  touch.  Rats  scuttled  when  we 
entered,  and  I  had  not  been  long  alone  when  they 
returned  to  bear  me  company.  I  am  not  a  natilral 
historian,  and  had  rather  face  a  lion  with  the  right 
rifle  than  a  rat  with  a  stick.  My  jailers,  however, 
had  been  kind  enough  to  leave  me  a  lantern, 
which,  set  upon  the  ground  (like  my  mattress), 
would  afford  a  warning,  if  not  a  protection, 
against  the  worst;  unless  I  slept;  and  as  yet  I  had 
not  lain  down. 

The  rascals  had  been  considerate  enough,  more 
especially  Santos,  who  had  a  new  manner  for  me 
with  his  revised  opinion  of  my  character;  it  was  a 
manner  almost  as  courtly  as  that  which  had  em- 

214 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

bellished  his  relations  with  Eva  Denlson,  and  won 
him  my  early  regard  at  sea.  Moreover,  it  was  at 
the  suggestion  of  Santos  that  they  had  detained 
me  in  the  hall,  for  much-needed  meat  and  drink, 
on  the  way  down.  Thereafter  they  had  conducted 
me  through  the  book-lined  door  of  my  undoing, 
down  stone  stairs  leading  to  three  cellar  doors, 
one  of  which  they  had  double-locked  upon  me. 

As  soon  as  I  durst  I  was  busy  with  this  door; 
but  to  no  purpose;  it  was  a  slab  of  solid  oak,  hung 
on  hinges  as  massive  as  its  lock.  It  galled  me  to 
think  that  but  two  doors  stood  between  me  and 
the  secret  tunnel  to  the  sea :  for  one  of  the  other 
two  must  lead  to  it.  The  first,  however,  was  all 
beyond  me,  and  I  very  soon  gave  it  up.  There  was 
also  a  very  small  grating  which  let  in  a  very  little 
fresh  air:  the  massive  foundations  had  been  tun- 
nelled in  one  place;  a  rude  alcove  was  the  result, 
with  this  grating  at  the  end  and  top  of  it,  some 
seven  feet  above  the  earth  floor.  Even  had  I  been 
able  to  wrench  away  the  bars,  it  would  have 
availed  me  nothing,  since  the  aperture  formed 
the  segment  of  a  circle  whose  chord  was  but  a  very 
few  inches  long.  I  had  nevertheless  a  fancy  for 
seeing  the  stars  once  more  and  feeling  the  breath 
of  heaven  upon  my  bandaged  temples,  which  im- 
pelled me  to  search  for  that  which  should  add  a 

215 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

cubit  to  my  stature.  And  at  a  glance  I  descried 
two  packing-cases,  rather  small  and  squat,  but  the 
pair  of  them  together  the  very  thing  for  me.  To 
I  my  amazement,  however,  I  could  at  first  move 
I  neither  one  nor  the  other  of  these  small  boxes. 
Was  it  that  I  was  weak  as  water,  or  that  they  were 
heavier  than  lead?  At  last  I  managed  to  get  one 
of  them  in  my  arms — only  to  drop  it  with  a  thud. 
A  side  started;  a  thin  sprinkling  of  yellow  dust 
glittered  on  the  earth.  I  fetched  the  lantern:  it 
was  gold-dust  from  Bendigo  or  from  Ballarat. 

To  me  there  was  horror  unspeakable,  yet  withal 
a  morbid  fascination,  in  the  spectacle  of  the  actual 
booty  for  which  so  many  lives  had  been  sacrificed 
before  my  eyes.  Minute  followed  minute  in  which 
I  looked  at  nothing,  and  could  think  of  nothing, 
but  the  stolen  bullion  at  my  feet;  then  I  gathered 
what  of  the  dust  I  could,  pocketed  it  in  pinches  to 
hide  my  meddlesomeness,  and  blew  the  rest  away. 
The  box  had  dropped  very  much  where  I  had 
found  it;  it  had  exhausted  my  strength  none  the 
less,  and  I  was  glad  at  last  to  lie  down  on  the 
j  mattress,  and  to  wind  my  body  in  Rattray's 
blankets. 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  sleep:  the  rats 
became  so  lively  the  moment  I  lay  still.  One  ven- 
tured so  near  as  to  sit  up  close  to  the  lantern;  the 

216 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

light  showed  its  fat  white  belly,  and  the  thing 
itself  was  like  a  dog  begging,  as  big  to  my  dis- 
gusted eyes.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  these  hor- 
rors (to  me  as  bad  as  any  that  had  preceded 
them),  nature  overcame  me,  and  for  a  space  my 
torments  ceased. 

"He  is  aslip,"  a  soft  voice  said. 

"Don't  wake  the  poor  devil,"  said  another. 

"But  I  weesh  to  spik  with  'im.  Senhor  Cole! 
Senhor  Cole !" 

I  opened  my  eyes.  Santos  looked  of  uncanny 
stature  in  the  low  yellow  light,  from  my  pillow 
close  to  the  earth.  Harris  turned  away  at  my 
glance;  he  carried  a  spade,  and  began  digging 
near  the  boxes  without  more  ado,  by  the  light  of 
a  second  lantern  set  on  one  of  them :  his  back  was 
to  me  from  this  time  on.  Santos  shrugged  a 
shoulder  towards  the  captain  as  he  opened  a  camp- 
stool,  drew  up  his  trousers,  and  seated  himself 
with  much  deliberation  at  the  foot  of  my  mattress. 

"When  you  'ave  treasure,"  said  he,  "the  better^ 
thing  Is  to  bury  it,  Senhor  Cole.  Our  young 
friend  upstairs  begs  to  deefer;  but  he  Is  slipping; 
it  is  peety  he  takes  such  quantity  of  brandy !  It  is 
leetle  wlkness  of  you  Engleesh;  we  In  Portugal 
never  touch  It,  save  as  a  liqueur;  therefore  we  re- 
quire less  slip.     Friend  squire  upstairs  is  at  this 

217 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

moment  no  better  than  a  porker.  Have  I  made 
mistake?  I  thought  it  was  the  same  word  in  both 
languages;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you  smile,  Senhor 
Cole;  that  is  good  sign.  I  was  going  to  say,  he  is 
so  fast  aslip  up  there,  that  he  would  not  hear  us 
if  we  were  to  shoot  each  other  dead!" 

And  he  gave  me  his  paternal  smile,  benevolent, 
humorous,  reassuring;  but  I  was  no  longer  reas- 
sured; nor  did  I  greatly  care  any  more  what  hap- 
pened to  me.  There  is  a  point  of  last,  as  well  as 
one  of  least  resistance,  and  I  had  reached  both 
points  at  once. 

"Have  you  shot  him  dead?"  I  inquired,  think- 
ing that  if  he  had,  this  would  precipitate  my  turn. 
But  he  was  far  from  angry;  the  parchment  face 
crumpled  into  tolerant  smiles;  the  venerable  head 
shook  a  playful  reproval,  as  he  threw  away  the 
cigarette  that  I  am  tired  of  mentioning,  and  put 
the  last  touch  to  a  fresh  one  with  his  tongue. 

"What  question!"  said  he;  "reely,  Senhor  Cole! 
But  you  are  quite  right:  I  would  have  shot  him, 
or  cut  his  troth"  (and  he  shrugged  indifference  on 
the  point) ,  "if  it  had  not  been  for  you;  and  yet  it 
would  have  been  your  fault!  I  nid  not  explain; 
the  poseetion  must  have  explained  itself  already; 
besides,  it  is  past.  With  you  two  against  us — but 
it  is  past.    You  see,  I  have  no  longer  the  excellent 

218 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

Jose.  You  broke  his  leg,  bad  man.  I  fear  it  will 
be  necessary  to  destroy  'im."  Santos  made  a 
pause;  then  inquired  if  he  shocked  me. 

**Not  a  bit,"  said  I,  neither  truly  nor  untruly; 
"you  interest  me."     And  that  he  did. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  "I  have  not  the  re- 
spect of  you  Engleesh  for  'uman  life.  We  will 
not"  argue  it.  I  have  at  least  some  respect  for 
prejudice.  In  my  youth  I  had  myself  such  preju- 
dices; but  one  loses  them  on  the  Zambesi.  You 
cannot  expect  one  to  set  any  value  upon  the  life 
of  a  black  nigger;  and  when  you  have  keeled  a 
great  many  Kaiflirs,  by  the  lash,  with  the  croco- 
diles, or  what-not,  then  a  white  man  or  two  makes 
less  deeference.  I  acknowledge  there  were  too 
many  on  board  that  sheep;  but  what  was  one  to 
do?  You  have  your  Engleesh  proverb  about  the 
dead  men  and  the  stories ;  it  was  necessary  to  make 
clin  swip.     You  see  the  result." 

He  shrugged  again  towards  the  boxes;  but  this 
time,  being  reminded  of  them  (I  supposed),  he 
rose  and  went  over  to  see  how  Harris  was  pro-j 
gressing.  The  captain  had  never  looked  round; 
neither  did  he  look  at  Santos.  "A  leetle  dipper," 
I  heard  the  latter  say,  "and,  perhaps,  a  few 
eenches — "  but  I  lost  the  last  epithet.  It  followed 
a  glance  over  the  shoulder  in  my  direction,  and 

219 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

immediately  preceded  the  return  of  Santos  to  his 
camp-stool. 

"Yes,  it  is  always  better  to  bury  treasure,"  said 
he  once  more;  but  his  tone  was  altered;  it  was 
more  contemplative;  and  many  smoke-rings  came 
from  the  shrunk  lips  before  another  word;  but 
through  them  all,  his  dark  eyes,  dull  with  age, 
were  fixed  upon  me. 

"You  are  a  treasure  !"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  softly 
enough,  but  quickly  and  emphatically  for  him,  and 
with  a  sudden  and  most  diabolical  smile. 

"So  you  are  going  to  bury  me?" 

I  had  suspected  it  when  first  I  saw  the  spade; 
then  not;  but  since  the  visit  to  the  hole  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  it. 

"Bury  you?  No,  not  alive,"  said  Santos,  in  his 
playfully  reproving  tone.  "It  would  be  necessary 
to  deeg  so  dip  !"  he  added  through  his  few  remain- 
ing teeth. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you'll  swing  for  it.  That's 
something." 

Santos  smiled  again,  benlgnantly  enough  this 
time:  in  contemplation  also:  as  an  artist  smiles 
upon  his  work.    /  was  his  ! 

"You  live  town,"  said  he;  "no  one  knows  where 
you  go.  You  come  down  here ;  no  one  knows  who 
you  are.    Your  dear  friend  squire  locks  you  up  for 

220 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

the  night,  but  dreenks  too  much  and  goes  to  slip 
with  the  key  in  his  pocket;  it  is  there  when  he 
wakes;  but  the  preesoner,  where  is  he?  He  is 
gone,  vanished,  escaped  in  the  night,  and,  Hke  the 
base  fabreec  of  your  own  poet's  veesion,  he  hves 
no  trace — is  it  trace? — be'ind!  A  leetle  earth  is 
so  easily  bitten  down;  a  leetle  more  is  so  easily 
carried  up  into  the  garden;  and  a  beet  of  nice 
strong  wire  might  so  easily  be  found  in  a  cellar, 
and  afterwards  in  the  lock !  No,  Senhor  Cole,  I 
do  not  expect  to  'ang.  My  schims  have  seldom  one 
seengle  flaw.  There  was  just  one  in  the  Lady 
Jermyn;  there  was — Senhor  Cole  !  If  there  is  one 
this  time,  and  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  point  it  out, 
I  will — I  will  run  the  reesk  of  shooting  you  in- 
stead of " 

A  pinch  of  his  baggy  throat,  between  the  fingers 
and  thumbs  of  both  hands,  foreshadowed  a  cleaner 
end;  and  yet  I  could  look  at  him;  nay,  it  was  more 
than  I  could  do  not  to  look  upon  that  bloodless 
face,  with  the  two  dry  blots  upon  the  parchment, 
that  were  never  withdrawn  from  mine. 

"No  you  won't,  messmate  !  If  it's  him  or  us  for 
it,  let  a  bullet  do  it,  and  let  it  do  it  quick,  you 
bloody  Spaniard !  You  can't  do  the  other  without 
me,  and  my  part's  done." 

Harris  was  my  only  hope.     I  had  seen  this  from 

221 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  first,  but  my  appeal  I  had  been  keeping  to  the 
very  end.  And  now  he  was  leaving  me  before  a 
word  would  come !  Santos  had  gone  over  to  my 
grave,  and  there  was  Harris  at  the  door! 

"It  is  not  dip  enough,"  said  the  Portuguese. 

"It's  as  deep  as  I  mean  to  make  it,  with  you 
sittin'  there  talkin'  about  it." 

And  the  door  stood  open. 

"Captain!"  I  screamed.  "For  Christ's  sake, 
captain!" 

He  stood  there,  trembling,  yet  even  now  not 
looking  my  way. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  man  hanged?"  asked  San- 
tos, with  a  vile  eye  for  each  of  us.  "I  once  hanged 
fifteen  in  a  row;  abominable  thifs.  And  I  once 
poisoned  nearly  a  hundred  at  one  banquet;  an  un- 
trustworthy tribe;  but  the  hanging  was  the  worse 
sight  and  the  worse  death.  Heugh !  There  was 
one  man — he  was  no  stouter  than  you  are  cap- 
tain  " 

But  the  door  slammed;  we  heard  the  captain  on 
the  stairs;  there  was  a  rustle  from  the  leaves  out- 
side, and  then  a  silence  that  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
describe. 

And,  indeed,  I  am  done  with  this  description : 
as  I  hve  to  tell  the  tale  (or  spoil  it,  if  I  choose)  I 
will  make  shorter  work  of  this  particular  business 

222 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

than  I  found  it  at  the  time.  Perverse  I  may  be  in 
old  age  as  in  my  youth;  but  on  that  my  agony — 
my  humih'ating  agony — I  decline  to  dwell.  I  suffer 
it  afresh  as  I  write.  There  are  the  cobwebs  on  the 
ceiling,  a  bloated  spider  crawling  in  one :  a  worse 
monster  is  gloating  over  me :  those  dull  eyes  of  his, 
and  my  own  pistol-barrel,  cover  me  in  the  lamp- 
light. The  crucifix  pin  is  awry  in  his  cravat;  that 
is  because  he  has  offered  it  me  to  kiss.  As  a  refine- 
ment (I  feel  sure)  my  revolver  is  not  cocked;  and 
the  hammer  goes  up — up 

He  missed  me  because  a  lantern  was  flashed  into 
his  eyes  through  the  grating.  He  wasted  the  next 
ball  in  firing  wildly  at  the  light.  And  the  last 
chamber's  load  became  suddenly  too  precious  for 
my  person;  for  there  were  many  voices  overhead; 
there  were  many  feet  upon  the  stairs. 

Harris  came  first — head-first — saw  me  still  liv- 
ing as  he  reeled — hurled  himself  upon  the  boxes 
and  one  of  these  into  the  hole — all  far  quicker  than 
my  pen  can  write  it.  The  manoeuvre,  being  the 
captain's,  explained  itself:  on  his  heels  trod  Rat- 
tray, with  one  who  brought  me  to  my  feet  like 
the  call  of  silver  trumpets. 

"The  house  is  surrounded,"  says  the  squire,  very 
quick  and  quiet;  "is  this  your  doing,  Cole?" 

"I  wish  it  was,"  said  I;  "but  I  can't  complain; 
223 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

it's  saved  my  life."  And  I  looked  at  Santos,  stand- 
ing dignified  and  alert,  my  still  smoking  pistol  in 
his  hand. 

"Two  things  to  do,"  says  Rattray — "I  don't 
care  which."  He  strode  across  the  cellar  and 
pulled  at  the  one  full  bin;  something  shd  out,  it 
was  a  binful  of  empty  bottles,  and  this  time  they 
were  allowed  to  crash  upon  the  floor;  the  squire 
stood  pointing  to  a  manhole  at  the  back  of  the 
bin.  "That's  one  alternative,"  said  he;  "but  it 
will  mean  leaving  this  much  stuff  at  least,"  point- 
ing to  the  boxes,  "and  probably  all  the  rest  at  the 
other  end.     The  other  thing's  to  stop  and  fight!" 

"I  fight,"  said  Santos,  stalking  to  the  door. 
"Have  you  no  more  ammunition  for  me,  friend 
Cole?    Then  I  must  live  you  alive;  adios,  senhor!" 

Harris  cast  a  wistful  look  towards  the  manhole, 
not  in  cowardice,  I  fancy,  but  in  sudden  longing 
for  the  sea,  the  longing  of  a  poor  devil  of  a  sailor- 
man  doomed  to  die  ashore.  I  am  still  sorry  to 
remember  that  Rattray  judged  him  differently. 

"Come  on,  skipper,"  said  he;  "it's  all  or  none 
aboard  the  lugger,  and  I  think  it  will  be  none.  Up 
you  go;  wait  a  second  in  the  room  above,  and  I'll 
find  you  an  old  cutlass.  I  shan't  be  longer."  He 
turned  to  me  with  a  wry  smile.  "We're  not  half- 
armed,"  he  said;  "they've  caught  us  fairly  on  the 

224 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

hop;  it  should  be  fun!  Good-by,  Cole;  I  wish 
you'd  had  another  round  for  that  revolver. 
Good-by,    Eva !" 

And  he  held  out  his  hand  to  our  love,  who  had 
been  watching  him  all  this  time  with  eyes  of  stone; 
but  now  she  turned  her  back  upon  him  without  a 
word.  His  face  changed;  the  stormllght  of  pas- 
sion-and  remorse  played  upon  It  for  an  Instant;  he 
made  a  step  towards  her,  wheeled  abruptly,  and 
took  me  by  the  shoulder  instead. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Cole,"  said  he.  "Whatever 
happens — take  care  of  her." 

I  caught  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  I  do  not 
defend  what  I  did.  But  I  had  more  ammunition; 
a  few  wadded  bullets,  caps,  and  powder-charges, 
loose  in  a  jacket  pocket;  and  I  thrust  them  into 
one  of  his,  upon  a  sudden  impulse,  not  (as  I  think) 
altogether  unaccountable,  albeit  (as  I  have  said) 
so  Indefensible. 

My  back  was  hardly  turned  an  instant.  I  had 
left  a  statue  of  unforgiving  coldness.  I  started 
round  to  catch  In  my  arms  a  half-fainting,  grief- 
stricken  form,  shaken  with  sobs  that  It  broke  my 
heart  to  hear.  I  placed  her  on  the  camp-stool. 
I  knelt  down  and  comforted  her  as  well  as  I 
could,  stroking  her  hands,  my  arm  about  her 
heaving    shoulders,    with    the    gold-brown    hair 

225 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

streaming  over  them.  Such  hair  as  it  was!  So 
much  longer  than  I  had  dreamt.  So  soft — so  fine 
— my  soul  swam  with  the  sight  and  touch  of  it. 
'  Well  for  me  that  there  broke  upon  us  from  above 
,  such  a  sudden  din  as  turned  my  hot  blood  cold! 
A  wild  shout  of  surprise;  an  ensuing  roar  of  de- 
fiance; shrieks  and  curses;  yells  of  rage  and  pain; 
and  pistol-shot  after  pistol-shot  as  loud  as  cannon 
in  the  confined  space. 

I  know  now  that  the  battle  in  the  hall  was  a 
very  brief  affair;  while  it  lasted  I  had  no  sense  of 
time;  minutes  or  moments,  they  were  (God  for- 
give me  !)  some  of  the  very  happiest  in  all  my  life. 
My  joy  was  as  profound  as  it  was  also  selfish  and 
incongruous.  The  villains  were  being  routed;  of 
that  there  could  be  no  doubt  or  question.  I  hoped 
Rattray  might  escape,  but  for  the  others  no  pity 
stirred  in  my  heart,  and  even  my  sneaking  sym- 
pathy with  the  squire  could  take  nothing  from  the 
joy  that  was  in  my  heart.  Eva  Denison  was  free. 
I  was  free.  Our  oppressors  would  trouble  us  no 
more.  We  were  both  lonely;  we  were  both 
young;  we  had  suffered  together  and  for  each 
other.  And  here  she  lay  in  ray  arms,  ker  head 
upon  my  shoulder,  her  soft  bosom  heaving  on  my 
own!  My  blood  ran  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  I 
forgot  everything  but  our  freedom  and  my  love. 

226 


A  Man  of  Many  Murders 

I  forgot  my  sufferings,  as  I  would  have  you  all 
forget  them.  I  am  not  to  be  pitied.  I  have  been 
in  heaven  on  earth.  I  was  there  that  night,  in  my 
great  bodily  weakness,  and  in  the  midst  of  blood- 
shed, death,  and  crime. 

"They  have  stopped!"  cried  Eva  suddenly. 
"It  is  over!     Oh,  if  he  is  dead!" 

And  she  sat  upright,  with  bright  eyes  starting 
from  a  deathly  face.  I  do  not  think  she  knew 
that  she  had  been  in  my  arms  at  all:  any  more 
than  I  knew  that  the  firing  had  ceased  before  she 
told  me.  Excited  voices  were  still  raised  over- 
head; but  some  sounded  distant,  yet  more  dis- 
tinct, coming  through  the  grating  from  the  gar- 
den; and  none  were  voices  that  we  knew.  One 
poor  wretch,  on  the  other  hand,  we  heard  plainly 
groaning  to  his  death;  and  we  looked  in  each 
other's  eyes  with  the  same  thought. 

"That's  Harris,"  said  I,  with,  I  fear,  but  little 
compassion  in  my  tone  or  in  my  heart  just  then. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  cried  Eva  piteously. 

"God  knows,"  said  I ;  "they  may  be  done  for, 
too." 

"If  they  are !" 

"It's  better  than  the  death  they  would  have 
lived  to  die." 

"But  only  one  of  them  was  a  wilful  murderer! 

22'J 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Oh,  Mr.  Cole — Mr.  Cole — go  and  see  what  has 
happened;  come  back  and  tell  me!  I  dare  not 
come.  I  will  stay  here  and  pray  for  strength  to 
bear  whatever  news  you  may  bring  me.  Go 
quickly.     I  will — wait — and  pray!" 

So  I  left  the  poor  child  on  her  knees  in  that 
vile  cellar,  white  face  and  straining  hands  uplifted 
to  the  foul  ceiling,  sweet  lips  quivering  with 
prayer,  eyelids  reverently  lowered,  and  the  swift 
tears  flowing  from  beneath  them,  all  in  the  yellow 
light  of  the  lantern  that  stood  burning  by  her  side. 
How  different  a  picture  from  that  which  awaited 
me  overhead! 


228 


CHAPTER    XIX 

MY  GREAT   HOUR 

THE  library  doors  were  shut,  and  I  closed  the 
secret  one  behind  me  before  opening  the 
other  and  peering  out  through  a  wrack  of  bluish 
smoke;  and  there  lay  Captain  Harris,  sure 
enough,  breathing  his  last  in  the  arms  of  one 
constable,  while  another  was  seated  on  the  table 
with  a  very  wry  face,  twisting  a  tourniquet  round 
his  arm,  from  which  the  blood  was  dripping  like 
raindrops  from  the  eaves.  A  third  officer  stood 
in  the  porch,  issuing  directions  to  his  men  without. 

"He's  over  the  wall,  I  tell  you !  I  saw  him 
run  up  our  ladder.  After  him  every  man  of  you 
— and  spread!" 

I  looked  in  vain  for  Rattray  and  the  rest;  yet 
it  seemed  as  if  only  one  of  them  had  escaped. 
I  was  still  looking  when  the  man  in  the  porch 
wheeled  back  into  the  hall,  and  instantly  caught 
sight  of  me  at  my  door. 

"Hillo!  here's  another  of  them,"  cried  he. 
"Out  you  come,  young  fellow !  Your  mates  are 
all  dead  men." 

229 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"They're  not  my  mates." 

"Never  mind;  come  you  out  and  let's  have 
a  look  at  you." 

I  did  so,  and  was  confronted  by  a  short,  thick- 
set man,  who  recognized  me  with  a  smile,  but 
whom  I  failed  to  recognize. 

"I  might  have  guessed  it  was  Mr.  Cole,"  said 
he.  "I  knew  you  were  here  somewhere,  but  I 
couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  you  through  the 
smoke." 

"I'm  surprised  that  you  can  make  head  or  tail 
of  me  at  all,"  said  I. 

"Then  you've  quite  forgotten  the  inquisitive 
parson  you  met  out  fishing?  You  see  I  found  out 
your  name  for  myself  I" 

"So  it  was  a  detective !" 

"It  was  and  is,"  said  the  little  man,  nodding. 
"Detective  or  Inspector  Royds,  if  you're  any  the 
wiser." 

"What  has  happened?    Who  has  escaped?" 

"Your  friend  Rattray;  but  he  won't  get  far." 

"What  of  the  Portuguese  and  the  nigger?" 

I  forgot  that  I  had  crippled  Jose,  but  remem- 
bered with  my  words,  and  wondered  the  more 
where  he  was. 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Royds.  "It  was  the  nig- 
ger let  us  in.     We  heard  him  groaning  round  at 

230 


My  Great  Hour 

the  back — who  smashed  his  leg?  One  of  our 
men  was  at  that  cellar  grating;  there  was  some 
of  them  down  there;  we  wanted  to  find  our  way 
down  and  comer  them,  but  the  fat  got  in  the 
fire  too  soon.  Can  you  stand  something  strong? 
Then  come  this  way." 

He  led  me  out  into  the  garden,  and  to  a  tan- 
gled heap  lying  in  the  moonlight,  on  the  edge  of 
the  long  grass.  The  slave  had  fallen  on  top 
of  his  master;  one  leg  lay  swathed  and  twisted; 
one  black  hand  had  but  partially  relaxed  upon  the 
haft  of  a  knife  {the  knife)  that  stood  up  hilt- 
deep  in  a  blacker  heart.  And  in  the  hand  of 
Santos  was  still  the  revolver  (my  Deane  and 
Adams)  which  had  sent  its  last  ball  through  the 
nigger's  body. 

"They  slipped  out  behind  us,  all  but  the  one 
inside,"  said  Royds,  ruefully;  "I'm  hanged  if  I 
know  yet  how  it  happened — but  we  were  on  them 
next  second.  Before  that  the  nigger  had  made  us 
hide  him  in  the  grass,  but  the  old  devil  ran  straight 
into  him,  and  the  one  fired  as  the  other  struck. 
It's  the  worst  bit  of  luck  in  the  whole  business, 
and  I'm  rather  disappointed  on  the  whole.  I've 
been  nursing  the  job  all  this  week;  had  my  last 
look  round  this  very  evening,  with  one  of  these 
officers,  and  only  rode  back  for  more  to  make 

231 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

sure  of  taking  our  gentlemen  alive.  And  we've 
lost  three  out  of  four  of  'em,  and  have  still  to  lay 
hands  en  the  gold!  I  suppose  you  didn't  know 
there  was  any  aboard?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Not  before  to-night." 

"Nor  did  we  till  the  Devoren  came  in  with 
letters  last  week,  a  hundred  and  thirty  days  out. 
She  should  have  been  in  a  month  before  you,  but 
she  got  amongst  the  Ice  around  the  Horn.  There 
was  a  letter  of  advice  about  the  gold,  saying  it 
would  probably  go  in  the  Lady  Jermyn;  and  an- 
other about  Rattray  and  his  schooner,  which  had 
just  sailed;  the  young  gentleman  was  known  to 
the  police  out  there." 

"Do  you  know  where  the  schooner  is?" 

"Bless  you,  no,  we've  had  no  time  to  think 
about  her;  the  man  had  been  seen  about  town, 
and  we've  done  well  to  lay  hands  on  him  in  the 
time." 

"You  will  do  better  still  when  you  do  lay  hands 
on  him,"  said  I,  wresting  my  eyes  from  the  yel- 
low dead  face  of  the  foreign  scoundrel.  The 
moon  shone  full  upon  his  high  forehead,  his 
shrivelled  lips,  dank  in  their  death  agony,  and  on 
the  bauble  with  the  sacred  device  that  he  wore 
always  in  his  tie.  I  recovered  my  property  from 
the  shrunken  fingers,  and  so  turned  away  with  a 

232 


My  Great  Hour 

harder  heart  than  I  ever  had  before  or  since  for 
any  creature  of  Almighty  God. 

Harris  had  expired  in  our  absence. 

"Never  spoke,  sir,"  said  the  constable  in  whose 
arms  we  had  left  him. 

"More's  the  pity.  Well,  cut  out  at  the  back 
and  help  land  the  young  gent,  or  we'll  have  him 
giving  us  the  slip  too.  He  may  double  back, 
but  I'm  watching  out  for  that.  Which  way 
should  you  say  he'd  head,  Mr.  Cole?" 

"Inland,"  said  I,  lying  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment, I  knew  not  why.  "Try  at  the  cottage 
where  I've  been  staying." 

"We  have  a  man  posted  there  already.  That 
woman  is  one  of  the  gang,  and  we've  got  her 
safe.  But  I'll  take  your  advice,  and  have  that 
side  scoured  whilst  I  hang  about  the  place." 

And  he  walked  through  the  house,  and  out  the 
back  way,  at  the  officer's  heels;  meanwhile  the 
man  with  the  wounded  arm  was  swaying  where 
he  sat  from  loss  of  blood,  and  I  had  to  help  him 
into  the  open  air  before  at  last  I  was  free  to  re- 
turn to  poor  Eva  in  her  place  of  loathsome 
safety. 

I  had  been  so  long,  however,  that  her  patience 
was  exhausted,  and  as  I  returned  to  the  library 
by  one  door,  she  entered  by  the  other. 

233 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Tell  me — the 
worst!" 

"Three  of  them  are  dead." 

"Which  three?" 

She  had  crossed  to  the  other  door,  and  would 
not  have  me  shut  it.  So  I  stood  between  her  and 
the  hearth,  on  which  lay  the  captain's  corpse,  with 
the  hearthrug  turned  up  on  either  side  to  cover  it. 

"Harris  for  one,"  said  I.  "Outside  lie  Jose 
and " 

"Quick!     Quick!" 

"Senhor  Santos." 

Her  face  was  as  though  the  name  meant  noth- 
ing to  her. 

"And  Mr.  Rattray?"  she  cried.  "And  Mr. 
Rattray " 

"Has  escaped  for  the  present.  He  seems  to 
have  cut  his  way  through  the  police  and  got  over 
the  wall  by  a  ladder  they  left  behind  them.  They 
are  scouring  the  country — Miss  Denison!  Eva  I 
My  poor  love !" 

She  had  broken  down  utterly  in  a  second  fit 
of  violent  weeping;  and  a  second  time  I  took  her 
in  my  arms,  and  stood  trying  in  my  clumsy  way 
to  comfort  her,  as  though  she  were  a  little  child. 
A  lamp  was  burning  in  the  library,  and  I  recog- 
nized  the   arm-chair   which   Rattray   had   drawn 

234 


My  Great  Hour 

thence  for  me  on  the  night  of  our  dinner — the 
very  night  before !  I  led  Eva  back  into  the  room, 
and  I  closed  both  doors.  I  supported  my  poor 
girl  to  the  chair,  and  once  more  I  knelt  before/ 
her  and  took  her  hands  in  mine.  My  great  hour 
was  come  at  last:  surely  a  happy  omen  that  it 
was  also  the  hour  before  the  dawn. 

"Cry  your  fill,  my  darling,"  I  whispered,  with 
the  tears  in  my  own  voice.  "You  shall  never  have 
anything  more  to  cry  for  in  this  world!  God  has 
been  very  good  to  us.  He  brought  you  to  me,  and 
me  to  you.  He  has  rescued  us  for  each  other. 
All  our  troubles  are  over;  cry  your  fill;  you  will 
never  have  another  chance  so  long  as  I  live,  if 
only  you  will  let  me  live  for  you.  Will  you,  Eva  ? 
Will  you?     Will  you?" 

She  drew  her  hands  from  mine,  and  sat  upright 
in  the  chair,  looking  at  me  with  round  eyes;  but 
mine  were  dim ;  astonishment  was  all  that  I  could 
read  In  her  look,  and  on  I  went  headlong,  with 
growing  impetus  and  passion. 

"I  know  I  am  not  much,  my  darling;  but  you 
know  I  was  not  always  what  my  luck,  good  and 
bad,  has  left  me  now,  and  you  will  make  a  new 
man  of  me  so  soon !  Besides,  God  must  mean  It,  or 
He  would  not  have  thrown  us  together  amid  such 
horrors,  and  brought  us  through  them  together 

235 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

still.  And  you  have  no  one  else  to  take  care  of 
you  in  the  world!  Won't  you  let  me  try,  Eva? 
Say  that  you  will!" 

"Then — you — love  me?"  she  said  slowly,  in 
a  low,  awe-struck  voice  that  might  have  told  me 
my  fate  at  once;  but  I  was  shaking  all  over  in 
the  intensity  of  my  passion,  and  for  the  moment 
it  was  joy  enough  to  be  able  at  last  to  tell  her  all. 

"Love  you?"  I  echoed.  "With  every  fibre  of 
my  being!  With  every  atom  of  my  heart  and 
soul  and  body!  I  love  you  well  enough  to  live 
to  a  hundred  for  you,  or  to  die  for  you  to-night!" 

"Well  enough  to — give  me  up?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

I  felt  as  though  a  cold  hand  had  checked  my 
heart  at  its  hottest,  but  I  mastered  myself  suffi- 
ciently to  face  her  question  and  to  answer  it  as 
honestly  as  I  might. 

"Yes!"  I  cried;  "well  enough  even  to  do  that, 
if  it  was  for  your  happiness;  but  I  might  be  rather 
difficult  to  convince  about  that." 

"You  are  very  strong  and  true,"  she  mur- 
mured. "Yes,  I  can  trust  you  as  I  have  never 
trusted  anybody  else!  But — how  long  have  you 
been  so  foolish?"  And  she  tried  very  hard  to 
smile. 

"Since  I  first  saw  you;  but  I  only  knew  it  on 
236 


My  Great  Hour 

the  night  of  the  fire.  Till  that  night  I  resisted  It 
like  an  idiot.  Do  you  remember  how  we  used 
to  argue?  I  rebelled  so  against  my  love!  I  Im- 
agined that  I  had  loved  once  already  and  once 
for  all.  But  on  the  night  of  the  fire  I  knew  that 
my  love  for  you  was  different  from  all  that  had 
gone  before  or  would  ever  come  again.  I  gave 
in  to*  it  at  last,  and  oh !  the  joy  of  giving  in !  I 
had  fought  against  the  greatest  blessing  of  my 
life,  and  I  never  knew  It  till  I  had  given  up  fight- 
ing. What  did  I  care  about  the  fire?  I  was 
never  happier — until  now !  You  sang  through 
my  heart  like  the  wind  through  the  rigging;  my 
one  fear  was  that  I  might  go  to  the  bottom  with- 
out telling  you  my  love.  When  I  asked  to  say 
a  few  last  w^ords  to  you  on  the  poop,  it  was  to  tell 
you  my  love  before  we  parted,  that  you  might 
kno^  I  loved  you  whatever  came.  I  didn't  do 
so,  because  you  seemed  so  frightened,  poor  dar- 
ling! I  hadn't  it  in  my  heart  to  add  to  your 
distress.  So  I  left  you  without  a  word.  But  I 
fought  the  sea  for  days  together  simply  to  tell 
you  what  I  couldn't  die  without  telling  you. 
When  they  picked  me  up,  it  was  your  name  that 
brought  back  my  senses  after  days  of  delirium. 
When  I  heard  that  you  were  dead,  I  longed  to  die 
myself.     And  when  I  found  you  lived  after  all, 

237 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  horror  of  your  surroundings  was  nothing  to 
be  compared  with  the  mere  fact  that  you  lived; 
that  you  were  unhappy  and  in  danger  was  my 
only  grief,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the  thought  of 
your  death;  and  that  I  had  to  wait  twenty-four 
hours  without  coming  to  you  drove  me  nearer  to 
madness  than  ever  I  was  on  the  hen-coop.  That's 
how  I  love  you,  Eva,"  I  concluded;  "that's  how 
I  love  and  will  love  you,  for  ever  and  ever,  no 
matter  what  happens." 

Those  sweet  gray  eyes  of  hers  had  been  fixed 
very  steadily  upon  me  all  through  this  outburst; 
as  I  finished  they  filled  with  tears,  and  my  poor 
love  sat  wringing  her  slender  fingers,  and  upbraid- 
ing herself  as  though  she  were  the  most  heartless 
coquette  in  the  country. 

"How  wicked  I  am!"  she  moaned.  "How  un- 
grateful I  must  be!  You  offer  me  the  unselfish 
love  of  a  strong,  brave  man.  I  cannot  take  it.  I 
have  no  love  to  give  you  in  return." 

"But  some  day  you  may,"  I  urged,  quite  hap- 
pily in  my  ignorance.  "It  will  come.  Oh,  surely 
it  will  come,  after  all  that  we  have  gone  through 
together!" 

She  looked  at  me  very  steadily  and  kindly 
through  her  tears. 

"It  has  come,  in  a  way,"  said  she;  "but  it  is 
238 


My  Great  Hour 

not  your  way,  Mr.  Cole.  I  do  love  you  for  your 
bravery  and  your — love — but  that  will  not  quite 
do  for  either  of  us." 

"Why  not?"  I  cried  in  an  ecstasy.  "My 
darling,  it  will  do  for  me!  It  is  more  than  I 
dared  to  hope  for;  thank  God,  thank  God,  that 
you  should  care  for  me  at  all!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  she  whispered. 

"I  do.  I  do.  You  do  not  love  me  as  you  want 
to  love." 

"As  I  could  love " 

"And  as  you  will !  It  will  come.  It  will  come. 
I'll  bother  you  no  more  about  it  now.  God  knows 
I  can  afford  to  leave  well  alone !  I  am  only  too 
happy — too  thankful — as  it  is!" 

And  indeed  I  rose  to  my  feet  every  whit  as 
joyful  as  though  she  had  accepted  me  on  the  spot. 
At  least  she  had  not  rejected  me;  nay,  she  con- 
fessed to  loving  me  in  a  way.  What  more  could 
a  lover  want?  Yet  there  was  a  dejection  in  her 
drooping  attitude  which  disconcerted  me  in  the 
hour  of  my  reward.  And  her  eyes  followed  me 
with  a  kind  of  stony  remorse  which  struck  a  chill 
to  my  bleeding  heart. 

I  went  to  the  door;  the  hall  was  still  empty, 
and  I  shut  it  again  with  a  shudder  at  what  I  saw 

239 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

before  the  hearth,  at  all  that  I  had  forgotten  in 
the  little  library.  As  I  turned,  another  door 
opened — the  door  made  invisible  by  the  multitude 
of  books  around  and  upon  it — and  young  Squire 
Rattray  stood  between  my  love  and  me^ 

His  clear,  smooth  skin  was  almost  as  pale  as 
Eva's  own,  but  pale  brown,  the  tint  of  rich  ivory. 
His  eyes  were  preternaturally  bright.  And  they 
never  glanced  my  way,  but  flew  straight  to  Eva, 
and  rested  on  her  very  humbly  and  sadly,  as  her 
two  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  the  chair,  and  she 
leant  forward  In  horror  and  alarm. 

"How  could  you  come  back?"  she  cried.  "I 
was  told  you  had  escaped!" 

"Yes,  I  got  away  on  one  of  their  horses." 

"I  pictured  you  safe  on  board!" 

"I  very  nearly  was." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"To  get  your  forgiveness  before  I  go." 

He  took  a  step  forward;  her  eyes  and  mine 
were  riveted  upon  him;  and  I  still  wonder  which 
of  us  admired  him  the  more,  as  he  stood  there  in 
his  pride  and  his  humility,  gallant  and  young, 
and  yet  shamefaced  and  sad. 

"You  risk  your  life — for  my  forgiveness?" 
whispered  Eva  at  last. 

"Risk  it?  I'll  give  myself  up  if  you'll  take 
240 


My  Great  Hour 

back  some  of  the  things  you  said  to  me — last 
night — and  before." 

There  was  a  short  pause. 

"Well,  you  are  not  a  coward,  at  all  events!" 

"Nor  a  murderer,  Eva!" 

"God  forbid." 

"Then  forgive  me  for  everything  else  that  I 
have  been — to  you  !" 

And  he  was  on  his  knees  where  I  had  knelt 
scarce  a  minute  before;  nor  could  I  bear  to  watch 
them  any  longer.  I  believed  that  he  loved  her 
In  his  own  way  as  sincerely  as  I  did  In  mine.  I 
believed  that  she  detested  him  for  the  detestable 
crime  In  which  he  had  been  concerned.  I  be- 
lieved that  the  opinion  of  him  which  she  had 
expressed  to  his  face.  In  my  hearing,  was  her  true 
opinion,  and  I  longed  to  hear  her  mitigate  It  ever 
so  little  before  he  went.  He  won  my  sympathy 
as  a  gallant  who  valued  a  kind  word  from  his 
mistress  more  than  life  itself.  I  hoped  earnestly 
that  that  kind  word  would  be  spoken.  But  I  had 
no  desire  to  wait  to  hear  It.  I  felt  an  Intruder. 
I  would  leave  them  alone  together  for  the  last 
time. 

So  I  walked  to  the  door,  but,  seeing  a  key  In 
it,  I  changed  my  mind,  and  locked  it  on  the  Inside. 
In  the  hall  I  might  become  the  unintentional  in- 

241 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

strument  of  the  squire's  capture,  though,  so  far 
as  my  ears  served  me.  It  was  still  empty  as  we  had 
left  it.  I  preferred  to  run  no  risks,  and  would 
have  a  look  at  the  subterranean  passage  instead. 

"I  advise  you  to  speak  low,"  I  said,  "and  not 
to  be  long.  The  place  is  alive  with  the  police. 
If  they  hear  you  all  will  be  up." 

Whether  he  heard  me  I  do  not  know.  I  left 
him  on  his  knees  still,  and  Eva  with  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands. 

The  cellar  was  a  strange  scene  to  revisit  within 
an  hour  of  my  deliverance  from  that  very  torture- 
chamber.  It  had  been  something  more  before  I 
left  It,  but  in  it  I  could  think  only  of  the  first 
occupant  of  the  camp-stool.  The  lantern  still 
burned  upon  the  floor.  There  was  the  mattress, 
still  depressed  where  I  had  lain  face  to  face  with 
insolent  death.  The  bullet  was  in  the  plaster; 
it  could  not  have  missed  by  the  breadth  of  many 
hairs.  In  the  corner  was  the  shallow  grave,  dug 
by  Harris  for  my  elements.  And  Harris  was 
dead.  And  Santos  was  dead.  But  life  and  love 
were  mine. 

I  would  have  gone  through  it  all  again! 

And  all  at  once  I  was  on  fire  to  be  back  in  the 
library;  so  much  so,  that  half  a  minute  at  the 
manhole,  lantern  in  hand,  was  enough  for  me; 

242 


My  Great  Hour 

and  a  mere  funnel  of  moist  brown  earth — a  ter- 
ribly low  arch  propped  with  beams — as  much  as 
I  myself  ever  saw  of  the  subterranean  conduit 
between  KIrby  House  and  the  sea.  But  I  under- 
stood that  the  curious  may  traverse  it  for 
themselves  to  this  day  on  payment  of  a  very 
modest  fee. 

As  for  me,  I  returned  as  I  had  come  after  (say) 
five  minutes'  absence;  my  head  full  once  more  of 
Eva,  and  of  impatient  anxiety  for  the  wild  young 
squire's  final  flight;  and  my  heart  still  singing 
with  the  joy  of  which  my  beloved's  kindness 
seemed  a  sufficient  warranty.  Poor  egotist !  Am 
I  to  tell  you  what  I  found  when  I  came  up  those 
steep  stairs  to  the  chamber  where  I  had  left  him 
on  his  knees  to  her?    Or  can  you  guess? 

He  was  on  his  knees  no  more,  but  he  held  her 
in  his  arms,  and  as  I  entered  he  was  kissing  the 
tears  from  her  wet,  flushed  cheek.  Her  eyelids 
drooped;  she  was  pale  as  the  dead  without,  so 
pale  that  her  eyebrows  looked  abnormally  and 
dreadfully  dark.  She  did  not  cling  to  him. 
Neither  did  she  resist  his  caresses,  but  lay  passive 
hi  his  arms  as  though  her  proper  paradise  was 
there.  And  neither  heard  me  enter;  it  was  as 
though  they  had  forgotten  all  the  world  but  one 
another. 

243 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"So  this  is  it,"  said  I  very  calmly.  I  can  hear 
my  voice  as  I  write. 

They  fell  apart  on  the  instant.  Rattray  glared 
at  me,  yet  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  dim.  Eva 
clasped  her  hands  before  her,  and  looked  me 
steadily  in  the  face.     But  never  a  word. 

"You  love  him?"  I  said  sternly. 

The  silence  of  consent  remained  unbroken. 

"Villain  as  he  is?"  I  burst  out. 

And  at  last  Eva  spoke. 

"I  loved  him  before  he  was  one,"  said  she. 
"We  were  engaged." 

She  looked  at  him  standing  by,  his  head  bowed, 
his  arms  folded;  next  moment  she  was  very  close 
to  me,  and  fresh  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  But  I 
stepped  backward,  for  I  had  had  enough. 

"Can  you  not  forgive  me?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes." 

"Can't  you  understand?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  I. 

"You  know  you  said " 

"I  have  said  so  many  things!" 

"But  this  was  that  you — you  loved  me  well 
enough  to — give  me  up." 

And  the  silly  ego  in  me — the  endless  and  incor- 
rigible I — imagined  her  pouting  for  a  withdrawal 
of  those  brave  words. 

244 


My  Great  Hour 

"I  not  only  said  it,"  I  declared,  "but  I  meant 
every  word  of  it." 

None  the  less  had  I  to  turn  from  her  to  hide 
my  anguish.  I  leaned  my  elbows  on  the  narrow 
stone  chimney-piece,  which,  with  the  grate  below 
and  a  small  mirror  above,  formed  an  almost  soli- 
tary oasis  in  the  four  walls  of  books.  In  the 
mirror  I  saw  my  face;  it  was  wizened,  drawn,  old 
before  its  time,  and  merely  ugly  in  its  sore  distress, 
merely  repulsive  in  its  bloody  bandages.  And  in 
the  mirror  also  I  saw  Rattray,  handsome,  roman- 
tic, audacious,  all  that  I  was  not,  nor  ever  would 
be,  and  I  "understood"  more  than  ever,  and 
loathed  my  rival  in  my  heart. 

I  wheeled  round  on  Eva.  I  was  not  going  to 
give  her  up — to  him.  I  would  tell  her  so  before 
him — tell  him  so  to  his  face.  But  she  had  turned 
away;  she  was  listening  to  some  one  else.  Her 
white  forehead  glistened.  There  were  voices  in 
the  hall. 

"Mr.  Cole!     Mr.  Cole!    Where  are  you,  Mr.  i 
Cole?" 

I  moved  over  to  the  locked  door.  My  hand 
found  the  key.  I  turned  round  with  evil  triumph 
in  my  heart,  and  God  knows  what  upon  my 
face.  Rattray  did  not  move.  With  lifted  hands 
the    girl    was    merely    begging    him    to    go,    by 

245 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

the  door  that  was  open,  down  the  stair.  He 
shook  his  head  grimly.  With  an  oath  I  was  upon 
them. 

"Go,  both  of  you!"  I  whispered  hoarsely. 
"Now — while  you  can — and  I  can  let  you.  Now ! 
Now! 

Still  Rattray  hung  back. 

I  saw  him  glancing  wistfully  at  my  great  re- 
volver lying  on  the  table  under  the  lamp.  I 
thrust  it  upon  him,  and  pushed  him  towards  the 
door. 

"You  go  first.  She  shall  follow.  You  will  not 
grudge  me  one  last  word?  Yes,  I  will  take  your 
hand.     If  you  escape — be  good  to  her!" 

He  was  gone.  Without,  there  was  a  voice  still 
calling  me;  but  now  it  sounded  overhead. 

"Good-by,  Eva,  I  said.  "You  have  not  a  mo- 
ment to  lose." 

Yet  those  divine  eyes  lingered  on  my  ugliness. 

"You  are  in  a  very  great  hurry,"  said  she,  in 
the  sharp  little  voice  of  her  bitter  moments. 

"You  love  him;  that  is  enough." 

"And  you,  too!"  she  cried.     "And  you,  too!" 

And  her  pure,  warm  arms  were  round  my  neck; 
another  instant,  and  she  would  have  kissed  me, 
she !  I  know  it.  I  knew  it  then.  But  it  was 
more  than  I  would  bear.     As  a  brother!     I  had 

246 


My  Great  Hour 

heard  that  tale  before.  Back  I  stepped  again, 
all  the  man  In  me  rebelling. 

"That's  impossible,"  said  I  rudely. 

"It  isn't.    It's  true.     I  do  love  you — for  this!" 

God  knows  how  I  looked ! 

"And  I  mayn't  say  good-by  to  you,"  she  whis- 
pered.    "And — and  I  love  you — for  that!" 

"Then  you  had  better  choose  between  us," 
said  I. 


247 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  STATEMENT  OF   FRANCIS  RATTRAY 

IN  the  year  1858  I  received  a  bulky  packet 
bearing  the  stamp  of  the  Argentine  Republic, 
a  realm  In  which,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  I  had 
not  a  solitary  acquaintance.  The  superscription 
told  me  nothing.  In  my  relations  with  Rattray 
his  handwriting  had  never  come  under  my  obser- 
vation. Judge  then  of  my  feelings  when  the  first 
thing  I  read  was  his  signature  at  the  foot  of  the 
last  page. 

For  five  years  I  had  been  uncertain  whether 
he  was  alive  or  dead.  I  had  heard  nothing  of 
him  from  the  night  we  parted  In  KIrby  Hall. 
All  I  knew  was  that  he  had  escaped  from  Eng- 
land and  the  English  police;  his  letter  gave  no 
details  of  the  Incident.  It  was  an  astonishing 
letter;  my  breath  was  taken  on  the  first  close 
page;  at  the  foot  of  It  the  tears  were  in  my  eyes. 
And  all  that  part  I  must  pass  over  without  a 
word.  I  have  never  shown  It  to  man  or  woman. 
It  Is  sacred  between  man  and  man. 

But  the  letter  possessed  other  points  of  interest 
248 


The  Statement  of  F  rancis  Rattray 

— of  almost  universal  interest — to  which  no  such 
scruples  need  apply;  for  it  cleared  up  certain  fea- 
tures of  the  foregoing  narrative  which  had  long 
been  mysteries  to  all  the  world;  and  it  gave  me 
what  I  had  tried  in  vain  to  fathom  all  these  years, 
some  explanation,  or  rather  history,  of  the  young 
Lancastrian's  complicity  with  Joaquin  Santos  in 
the  foul  enterprise  of  the  Lady  Jermyn.  And 
these  passages  I  shall  reproduce  word  for  word; 
partly  because  of  their  intrinsic  interest;  partly 
for  such  new  light  as  they  may  throw  on  this  or 
that  phase  of  the  foregoing  narrative;  and,  lastly, 
out  of  fairness  to  (I  hope)  the  most  gallant  and 
most  generous  youth  who  ever  slipped  upon  the 
lower  slopes  of  Avernus. 
Wrote  Rattray: 

**You  wondered  how  I  could  have  thrown  in 
my  lot  with  such  a  man.  You  may  wonder  still, 
for  I  never  yet  told  living  soul.  I  pretended  I 
had  joined  him  of  my  own  free  will.  That  was 
not  quite  the  case.    The  facts  were  as  follows : 

"In  my  teens  (as  I  think  you  know)  I  was  at 
sea.  I  took  my  second  mate's  certificate  at  twenty, 
and  from  that  to  twenty-four  my  voyages  were 
far  between  and  on  my  own  account.  I  had  given 
way  to  our  hereditary  passion  for  smuggling.     I 

249 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

kept  a  'yacht'  In  Morecambe  Bay,  and  more 
French  brandy  than  I  knew  what  to  do  with  In 
my  cellars.  It  was  exciting  for  a  time,  but  the 
excitement  did  not  last.  In  185 1  the  gold  fever 
broke  out  In  Australia.  I  shipped  to  Melbourne 
as  third  mate  on  a  barque,  and  I  deserted  for  the 
diggings  In  the  usual  course.  But  I  was  never  a 
successful  digger.  I  had  little  luck  and  less  pa- 
tience, and  I  have  no  doubt  that  many  a  good 
haul  has  been  taken  out  of  claims  previously  aban- 
doned by  me ;  for  of  one  or  two  I  had  the  mortifi- 
cation of  hearing  while  still  In  the  Colony.  I 
suppose  I  had  not  the  temperament  for  the  work. 
Dust  would  not  do  for  me — I  must  have  nuggets. 
So  from  Bendlgo  I  drifted  to  the  Ovens,  and  from 
the  Ovens  to  Ballarat.  But  I  did  no  more  good 
on  one  field  than  on  another,  and  eventually,  early 
in  1853,  I  cast  up  In  Melbourne  again  with  the 
intention  of  shipping  home  in  the  first  vessel. 
But  there  were  no  crews  for  the  homeward- 
bounders,  and  while  waiting  for  a  ship  my  little 
stock  of  gold  dust  gave  out.  I  became  destitute 
first — then  desperate.  Unluckily  for  me,  the  be- 
ginning of  '53  was  the  hey-day  of  Captain  Mel- 
ville, the  notorious  bushranger.  He  was  a  young 
fellow  of  my  own  age.  I  determined  to  Imitate 
his  exploits.    I  could  make  nothing  out  there  from 

250 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

an  honest  life;  rather  than  starve  I  would  lead  a 
dishonest  one.  I  had  been  born  with  lawless  ten- 
dencies; from  smuggling  to  bushranging  was  an 
easy  transition,  and  about  the  latter  there  seemed 
to  be  a  gallantry  and  romantic  swagger  which 
put  it  on  the  higher  plane  of  the  two.  But  I  was 
not  born  to  be  a  bushranger  either.  I  failed  at 
the  very  first  attempt.  I  was  outwitted  by  my 
first  victim,  a  thin  old  gentleman  riding  a  cob  at 
night  on  the  Geelong  road. 

"  'Why  rob  me?'  said  he.  'I  have  only  ten 
pounds  in  my  pocket,  and  the  punishment  will  be 
the  same  as  though  it  were  ten  thousand.' 

"  'I  want  your  cob/  said  I  (for  I  was  on  foot)  ; 
'I'm  a  starving  Jack,  and  as  I  can't  get  a  ship  I'm 
going  to  take  to  the  bush.' 

"He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*'  'To  starve  there?'  said  he.  'My  friend,  it 
Is  a  poor  sport,  this  bushranging.  I  have  looked 
into  the  matter  on  my  own  account.  You  not 
only  die  like  a  dog,  but  you  live  like  one  too.  It 
is  not  worth  while.  No  crime  is  worth  while 
under  five  figures,  my  friend.  A  starving  Jack, 
eh?  Instead  of  robbing  me  of  ten  pounds,  why 
not  join  me  and  take  ten  thousand  as  your  share 
of  our  first  robbery?  A  sailor  is  the  very  man  I 
want !' 

251 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"I  told  him  that  what  I  wanted  was  his  cob, 
and  that  it  was  no  use  his  trying  to  hoodwink  me 
by  pretending  he  was  one  of  my  sort,  because  I 
knew  very  well  that  he  was  not;  at  which  he 
shrugged  again,  and  slowly  dismounted,  after  of- 
fering me  his  money,  of  which  I  took  half.  He 
shook  his  head,  telling  me  I  was  very  foolish,  and 
I  was  coolly  mounting  (for  he  had  never  offered 
me  the  least  resistance),  with  my  pistols  in  my 
belt,  when  suddenly  I  heard  one  cocked  behind  me. 

"'Stop!'  said  he.  'It's  my  turn!  Stop,  or  I 
shoot  you  dead!'  The  tables  were  turned,  and 
he  had  me  at  his  mercy  as  completely  as  he  had 
been  at  mine.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  being 
marched  to  the  nearest  police-station.  But  noth- 
ing of  the  kind.  I  had  misjudged  my  man  as 
utterly  as  you  misjudged  him  a  few  months  later 
aboard  the  Lady  Jermyn-  He  took  me  to  his 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  Melbourne,  a  weather- 
board bungalow,  scantily  furnished,  but  comfort- 
able enough.  And  there  he  seriously  repeated  the 
proposal  he  had  made  me  off-hand  in  the  road. 
Only  he  put  it  a  little  differently.  Would  I  go 
to  the  hulks  for  attempting  to  rob  him  of  five 
pounds,  or  would  I  stay  and  help  him  commit  a 
robbery,  of  which  my  share  alone  would  be  ten 
or  fifteen  thousand?     You  know  which  I  chose. 

252 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

You  know  who  this  man  was.  I  said  I  would 
join  him.  He  made  me  swear  it.  And  then  he 
told  me  what  his  enterprise  was:  there  is  no  need 
for  me  to  tell  you;  nor  indeed  had  it  taken  defi- 
nite shape  at  this  time.  Suffice  it  that  Santos  had 
wind  that  big  consignments  of  Austrailian  gold 
were  shortly  to  be  shipped  home  to  England;  that 
he,  like  myself,  had  done  nothing  on  the  diggings, 
where  he  had  looked  to  make  his  fortune,  and  out 
of  which  he  meant  to  make  it  still. 

"It  was  an  extraordinary  life  that  we  led  in  the 
bungalow,  I  the  guest,  he  the  host,  and  Eva  the 
unsuspecting  hostess  and  innocent  daughter  of  the 
house.  Santos  had  failed  on  the  fields,  but  he 
had  succeeded  in  making  valuable  friends  in  Mel- 
bourne. Men  of  position  and  of  influence  spent 
their  evenings  on  our  veranda,  among  others  the 
Melbourne  agent  for  the  Lady  Jermyn,  the  like- 
liest vessel  then  lying  in  the  harbor,  and  the  one 
to  which  the  first  consignment  of  gold-dust  would 
be  entrusted  if  only  a  skipper  could  be  found  to 
replace  the  deserter  who  took  you  out.  Santos 
made  up  his  mind  to  find  one.  It  took  him  weeks, 
but  eventually  he  found  Captain  Harris  on  Ben- 
digo,  and  Captain  Harris  was  his  man.  More 
than  that  he  was  the  man  for  the  agent;  and  the 
JLady  Jermyn  was  once  more  made  ready  for  sea. 

253 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

Now  began  the  complications.  Quite  openly,  San- 
tos had  bought  the  schooner  Spindrift,  freighted 
her  with  wool,  given  me  the  command,  and  vowed 
that  he  would  go  home  in  her  rather  than  wait 
any  longer  for  the  Lady  Jermyn.  At  the  last 
moment  he  appeared  to  change  his  mind,  and  I 
sailed  alone  as  many  days  as  possible  in  advance 
of  the  ship,  as  had  been  intended  from  the  first; 
but  it  went  sorely  against  the  grain  when  the  time 
came.  I  would  have  given  anything  to  have 
backed  out  of  the  enterprise.  Honest  I  might 
be  no  longer;  I  was  honestly  in  love  with  Eva 
Denison.  Yet  to  have  backed  out  would  have 
been  one  way  of  losing  her  for  ever.  Besides,  it 
was  not  the  first  time  I  had  run  counter  to  the 
law,  I  who  came  of  a  lawless  stock;  but  it  would 
be  the  first  time  I  had  deserted  a  comrade  or 
broken  faith  with  one.  I  would  do  neither.  In 
for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound. 

"But  before  my  God  I  never  meant  it  to  turn 
out  as  It  did,  though  I  admit  and  have  always 
admitted  that  my  moral  responsibility  is  but  little 
If  any  the  less  on  that  account.  Yet  I  was  never 
a  consenting  party  to  wholesale  murder,  whatever 
else  I  was.  The  night  before  I  sailed,  Santos  and 
the  captain  were  aboard  with  me  till  the  small 
hours.     They  promised  me  that  every  soul  should 

254 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

have  every  chance;  that  nothing  but  unforeseen 
accident  could  prevent  the  boats  from  making 
Ascension  again  in  a  matter  of  hours;  that  as  long 
as  the  gig  was  supposed  to  be  lost  with  all  hands, 
nothing  else  mattered.  So  they  promised,  and 
that  Harris  meant  to  keep  his  promise  I  fully 
beheve.  That  w^as  not  a  wanton  ruffian;  but  the 
other  would  spill  blood  like  water,  as  I  told  you 
at  the  hall,  and  as  no  man  now  knows  better  than 
yourself.  He  was  notorious  even  in  Portuguese 
Africa  on  account  of  his  atrocious  treatment  of 
the  blacks.  It  was  a  favorite  boast  of  his  that  he 
once  poisoned  a  whole  village;  and  that  he  him- 
self tampered  with  the  Lady  Jermyn's  boats  you 
can  take  my  word,  for  I  have  heard  him  describe 
how  he  left  it  to  the  last  night,  and  struck  the 
blows  during  the  applause  at  the  concert  on  the 
quarter-deck.  He  said  it  might  have  come  out 
about  the  gold  in  the  gig,  during  the  fire.  It  was 
safer  to  run  no  risks. 

"The  same  thing  came  into  play  aboard  the 
schooner.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  horror  of  that 
voyage  after  Santos  came  aboard!  I  had  a  crew 
of  eight  hands  all  told,  and  two  he  brought  with 
him  in  the  gig.  Of  course  they  began  talking 
about  the  gold;  they  would  have  their  share  or 
split  when  they  got  ashore;  and  there  was  mutiny 

255 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

in  the  air,  with  the  steward  and  the  quarter-master 
of  the  Lady  Jermyn  for  ring-leaders.  Santos 
nipped  it  in  the  bud  with  a  vengeance !  He  and 
Harris  shot  every  man  of  them  dead,  and  two 
who  were  shot  through  the  heart  they  washed  and 
dressed  and  set  adrift  to  rot  in  the  gig  with  false 
papers!  God  knows  how  we  made  Madeira;  we 
painted  the  old  name  out  and  a  new  name  in,  on 
the  way;  and  we  shipped  a  Portuguese  crew,  not 
a  man  of  whom  could  speak  English.  We 
shipped  them  aboard  the  Duque  de  Mondejo's 
yacht  Braganza;  the  schooner  Spindrift  had  dis- 
appeared from  the  face  of  the  waters  for  ever. 
And  with  the  men  we  took  in  plenty  of  sour  claret 
and  cigarettes;  and  we  paid  them  well;  and  the 
Portuguese  sailor  is  not  inquisitive  under  such  con- 
ditions. 

"And  now,  honestly,  I  wished  I  had  put  a 
bullet  through  my  head  before  joining  in  this 
murderous  conspiracy;  but  retreat  was  impossible, 
even  if  I  had  been  the  man  to  draw  back  after 
going  so  far;  and  I  had  a  still  stronger  reason  for 
standing  by  the  others  to  the  bitter  end.  I  could 
not  leave  our  lady  to  these  ruffians.  On  the  other 
hand,  neither  could  I  take  her  from  them,  for 
(as  you  know)  she  justly  regarded  me  as  the  most 
flagrant  ruffian  of  them  all.     It  was  in  me  and 

256 


He  and   Harris  sliot  every  man  of  them  dead. 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

through  me  that  she  was  deceived,  Insulted,  hum- 
Wed,  and  contaminated ;  that  she  should  ever  have 
forgiven  me  for  a  moment  is  more  than  I  can 
credit  or  fathom  to  this  hour.  ...  So  there 
we  were.  She  would  not  look  at  me.  And  I 
would  not  leave  her  until  death  removed  me. 
Santc«  had  been  kind  enough  to  her  hitherto;  he 
had  been  kind  enough  (I  understand)  to  her 
mother  before  her.  It  was  only  in  the  execution 
of  his  plans  that  he  showed  his  Napoleonic  dis- 
regard for  human  life ;  and  it  was  precisely  herein 
that  I  began  to  fear  for  the  girl  I  still  dared  to 
love.  She  took  up  an  attitude  as  dangerous  to 
her  safety  as  to  our  own.  She  demanded  to  be 
set  free  when  we  came  to  land.  Her  demand  was 
refused.  God  forgive  me,  it  had  no  bitterer  op- 
ponent than  myself!  And  all  we  did  was  to 
harden  her  resolution;  that  mere  child  threatened 
us  to  our  faces,  never  shall  I  forget  the  scene! 
You  know  her  spirit:  if  we  would  not  set  her  free, 
she  would  tell  all  when  we  landed.  i\nd  you  re- 
member how  Santos  used  to  shrug?  That  was 
all  he  did  then.  It  was  enough  for  me  who  knew 
him.  For  days'  I  never  left  them  alone  together. 
Night  after  night  I  watched  her  cabin  door.  And 
she  hated  me  the  more  for  never  leaving  her 
alone !     I  bad  to  resign  myself  to  that. 

257 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

"The  night  we  anchored  in  Falmouth  Bav, 
thinking  then  of  taking  our  gold  straight  to  the 
Bank  of  England,  as  eccentric  lucky  diggers — 
that  night  I  thought  would  be  the  last  for  one 
I  or  other  of  us.  He  locked  her  in  her  cabin.  He 
posted  himself  outside  on  the  settee.  I  sat  watch- 
ing him  across  the  table.  Each  had  a  hand  in 
his  pocket,  each  had  a  pistol  in  that  hand,  and 
there  we  sat,  with  our  four  eyes  locked,  while 
Harris  went  ashore  for  papers.  He  came  back  in 
great  excitement.  What  with  stopping  at  Ma- 
deira, and  calms,  and  the  very  few  knots  we  could 
knock  out  of  the  schooner  at  the  best  of  times, 
we  had  made  a  seven  or  eight  weeks'  voyage  of  it 
^from  Ascension — where,  by  the  way,  I  had  ar- 
rived only  a  couple  of  days  before  the  Lady  Jer- 
•myn,  though  I  had  nearly  a  month's  start  of  her. 
Well,  Harris  came  back  In  the  highest  state  of 
excitement:  and  well  he  might:  the  papers  were 
full  of  you,  and  of  the  burning  of  the  Lady 
Jermyn! 

"Now  mark  what  happened.  You  know,  of 
course,  as  well  as  I  do;  but  I  wonder  if  you  can 
even  yet  realize  what  It  was  to  us !  Our  prisoner 
hears  that  you  are  alive,  and  she  turns  upon  Santos 
and  tells  him  he  is  welcome  to  silence  her,  but  it 
will  do  us  no  good  now,  as  you  know  that  the 

258 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

ship  was  wilfully  burned,  and  with  what  object. 
It  is  the  single  blow  she  can  strike  in  self-defence ; 
but  a  shrewder  one  could  scarcely  be  Imagined. 
She  had  talked  to  you,  at  the  very  last;  and  by 
that  time  she  did  know  the  truth.  What  more 
natural  than  that  she  should  confide  It  to  you? 
She  had  had  time  to  tell  you  enough  to  hang  the 
lot  of  us;  and  you  may  imagine  our  consterna- 
tion on  hearing  that  she  had  told  you  all  she 
knew !  From  the  first  we  were  never  quite  sure 
whether  to  believe  it  or  not.  That  the  papers 
breathed  no  suspicion  of  foul  play  was  neither 
here  nor  there.  Scotland  Yard  might  have  seen 
to  that.  Then  we  read  of  the  morbid  reserve 
which  was  said  to  characterize  all  your  utterances 
concerning  the  Lady  Jermyn.  What  were  we  to 
do?  What  we  no  longer  dared  to  do  was  to  take 
our  gold-dust  straight  to  the  Bank.  What  we 
did,  you  know. 

"We  ran  round  to  Morecambe  Bay,  and  landed 
the  gold  as  we  Rattrays  had  landed  lace  and 
brandy  from  time  Immemorial.  We  left  Eva  In 
charge  of  Jane  Bralthwaite,  God  only  knows  how 
much  against  my  will,  but  we  were  In  a  corner, 
It  was  life  or  death  with  us,  and  to  find  out  how 
much  you  knew  was  a  first  plain  necessity.  And 
the  meano  we  took  were  the  only  means  In  our 

259 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

power;  nor  shall  I  say  more  to  you  on  that  subject 
than  I  said  five  years  ago  in  my  poor  old  house. 
That  is  still  the  one  part  of  the  whole  conspiracy 
of  which  I  myself  am  most  ashamed. 

"And  now  it  only  remains  for  me  to  tell  you 
why  I  have  written  all  this  to  you,  at  such  great 
length,  so  long  after  the  event.  My  wife  wished 
it.  The  fact  is  that  she  wants  you  to  think  better 
of  me  than  I  deserve;  and  I — yes — I  confess  that 
I  should  like  you  not  to  think  quite  as  ill  of  me 
as  you  must  have  done  all  these  years.  I  was 
villain  enough,  but  do  not  think  I  am  unpun- 
ished. 

"I  am  an  outlaw  from  my  country.  I  am  morally 
a  transported  felon.  Only  in  this  no-man's  land 
am  I  a  free  man ;  let  me  but  step  across  the  border 
and  I  am  worth  a  little  fortune  to  the  man  who 
takes  me.  And  we  have  had  a  hard  time  here, 
though  not  so  hard  as  I  deserved ;  and  the  hardest 
part  of  all.    .    .    ." 

But  you  must  guess  the  hardest  part:  for  the 
letter  ended  as  it  began,  with  sudden  talk  of  his 
inner  life,  and  tentative  inquiry  after  mine.  In 
its  entirety,  as  I  say,  I  have  never  shown  it  to  a 
soul;  there  was  just  a  little  more  that  I  read  to 
my  wife  (who  could  not  hear  enough  about  his)  ; 

260 


The  Statement  of  Francis  Rattray 

then  I  folded  up  the  letter,  and  even  she  has 
never  seen  the  passages  to  which  I  allude. 

And  yet  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  hold  that 
the  previous  romances  of  married  people  should 
be  taboo  between  them  in  after  life.  On  the  con- 
trary, much  mutual  amusement,  of  an  Innocent 
character,  may  be  derived  from  a  fair  and  free 
interchange  upon  the  subject;  and  this  is  why  we, 
in  our  old  age  (or  rather  in  mine),  find  a  still 
unfailing  topic  In  the  story  of  which  Eva  Denison 
was  wayward  heroine  and  Frank  Rattray  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  hero.  Sometimes  these 
reminiscences  lead  to  an  argument ;  for  It  has  been 
the  fate  of  my  life  to  become  attached  to  argu- 
mentative persons.  I  suppose  because  I  myself 
hate  arguing.  On  the  day  that  I  received  Rat- 
tray's letter  we  had  one  of  our  warmest  discus- 
sions. I  could  repeat  every  word  of  it  after  forty 
years. 

"A  good  man  does  not  necessarily  make  a  good 
husband,"  I  Innocently  remarked. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  asked  my  wife,  who 
never  would  let  a  generalization  pass  unchal- 
lenged. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Rattray,"  said  I.  "The 
most  tolerant  of  judges  could  scarcely  have  de- 
scribed him  as  a  good  man  five  years  ago.     Yet 

261 


Dead  Men  Tell  No  Tales 

I  can  see  that  he  has  made  an  admirable  husband. 
On  the  whole,  and  if  you  can't  be  both,  it  is  better 
to  be  the  good  husband!" 

It  was  this  point  that  we  debated  with  so  much 
ardor.  My  wife  would  take  the  opposite  side; 
that  is  her  one  grave  fault.  And  I  must  introduce 
personalities;  that,  of  course,  is  among  the  least 
of  mine.  I  compared  myself  with  Rattray,  as  a 
husband,  and  (with  some  sincerity)  to  my  own 
disparagement.  I  pointed  out  that  he  was  an 
infinitely  more  fascinating  creature,  which  was  no 
hard  saying,  for  that  epithet  at  least  I  have  never 
earned.  And  yet  it  was  the  word  to  sting  my 
wife. 

"Fascinating,  perhaps!"  said  she.  "Yes,  that 
is  the  very  word;  but — fascination  is  not  love!" 

And  then  I  went  to  her,  and  stroked  her  hair 
(for  she  had  hung  her  head  in  deep  distress),  and 
kissed  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  And  I  swore  that 
her  eyes  were  as  lovely  as  Eva  Denison's,  that 
there  seemed  even  more  gold  in  her  glossy  brown 
hair,  that  she  was  even  younger  to  look  at.  And 
at  the  last  and  craftiest  compliment  my  own  love 
looked  at  me  through  her  tears,  as  though  some 
day  or  other  she  might  forgive  me. 

"Then  why  did  you  want  to  give  me  up  to 
him?"  said  she. 

262 


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